


The Uncanny X-Men, Book One

by falconlord5



Series: The Uncanny X-Men [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 79,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falconlord5/pseuds/falconlord5
Summary: Jean Grey has been kicked out every school in Putnam County. The only place left that will take her is the mysterious Professor Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters in nearby Westchester. Join Jean as she struggles to control her found powers, finds love and deals with the greatest and most terrible players in the Marvel and DC Universe! Rated for future content.





	1. The Children of The Atom

The Uncanny X-Men: Children of the Atom

_The stars burn like white-hot embers in the empty blackness of space. On a lifeless piece of rock below the awe-inspiring vista, there stands a man. He looks right at you._

_But this man is no ordinary man! His bald head is too large for his body and he walks about in this airless place dressed only in a white toga and a dark blue cape. A golden infinity symbol serves as clasp at his neck, matching the golden bracers on his wrist. Pupil-less eyes glare down at you from his massive height._

“I am Uatu the Watcher!” _he said, his voice booming like a foghorn in the mist. “_ I always watch, but must never interfere!”

 _He guides your gaze to a blue-green planet that fills the night sky._ “Behold the Earth!” _he exclaims._ “A jewel among worlds, and as yet insignificant among them. But that has changed! The Age of Marvels, of Ultimate Evil versus Infinite Good has begun! The Kryptonian has arrived at last!” _And indeed, you see a small glint of light travelling towards Earth, far faster than the burning distant stars._

“The Kryptonian is only the beginning!” _Uatu says._ “In all the universes, when the Kryptonian arrives so begins the Age of Marvels! But his is a different story, for another time! For now, we must turn to yet another change among the Earth’s population! We must turn our attention to the mutants!”

_Again this strange man directs your attention to blue-green emerald that hangs in space. Now you see that the world is full of billions upon billions of glittering lights. Some lights are red, and pulse with dark power. Others are the colour of lapis lazuli, bluer than Earth's waters. And yet others are plain, white and dull. And they outnumber the coloured lights a thousand to one._

“Are the coloured lights the mutants?” _you ask._

“Indeed!” _thunders the Watcher._ “You are wise for a mortal! The red lights are the mutants who have chosen violence for their path! The blue lights represent a different path, those who have chosen peace! It is their destiny to replace ordinary mortals, to become the dominant strain of humanity in the decades to come! Ever shall these two sides battle for the fate of humanity and mutantkind! Which side is in the right, do you wonder?”

 _You shrug._ “If mutants will replace humanity, then I don’t see how it matters. Besides, sometimes you have to be peaceful and sometimes you have to be violent. I mean look,” _you point to Earth,_ “there are lights turning purple.”

 _This seems to amuse the giant, for he almost cracks a smile._ “Indeed! You are wise for a mortal,” _he says._ "Those purple lights are the Uncanny X-Men! Disciples of Xavier, they fight for a world that hates and despises them! This is their story! Prepare to meet, the Strangest Heroes of Them All!”

***

It was a quiet afternoon in Westchester County. The sun shone down on the peaceful county roads like a farmer watching their crops grow with pride while cars zipped along the roads out of White Plains going hither and yon. In one car in particular, a blue four-door sedan, sat a young woman with red hair, a round face with smooth cheekbones and startling green eyes by the name of Jean Grey. She stared moodily out of the car window, picking idly at her blue overcoat, torn between excitement and resentment at being sent off to a boarding school at seventeen. She didn’t understand why her parents were carting her off to some boarding school in the suburbs of New York City now, taking her away from all of her friends to some place she didn’t know. It was all because of those accidents, she thought resentfully. But those weren’t her fault! She didn’t know why objects just flew around her sometimes; she didn’t throw them or anything. But they had gotten her in trouble and kicked out of every school near the Grey estate over in Putnam County. But that wasn’t her fault! On the other hand, this was supposed to be a _very_ exclusive boarding school, one for only the most gifted of students. And Jean was young enough for that to fuel her ego. And, if she were entirely honest, she didn’t have friends. Not really. Not since Annie…

“Everything all right there, Jeannie?” her father asked from the driver’s seat.

“Yes. No,” Jean answered. “Why do I have to go to this strange school with all these strange people? Why couldn’t I have stayed home?”

“Because you’ve been kicked out of every school in Putnam County. Twice over, in some cases,” her mother answered as she twisted around in the front passenger seat to get a good look at her daughter. Jean greatly resembled her mother, from the fire-truck hair to the emerald eyes. They were even the same height. If it weren’t for the subtle markers of age around the elder Grey’s face such as crow’s feet and laugh lines, the two women could have passed as sisters.

Ordinarily, Jean loved her mother’s blunt and straightforward manner. Her father treated her as if she were still twelve. Her mother at least pretended Jean was an equal. Today, however, it just fuelled Jean’s resentment.

“We couldn’t have hired a tutor? Or maybe a public school?” Jean demanded.

“Well, about the public schools…” her father began.

“They pre-emptively kicked you out,” her mother interrupted. “After you destroyed that gym.”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Jean protested. Jean had been trying out for the girl’s basketball team. Several of the more popular girls had objected for reasons Jean would never understand and had taunted her. At first, Jean had been hurt and tried to leave the gym, but the girls wouldn’t let up. They finally cornered her and started hitting and kicking her. That hadn’t been the worst of it though. They had taunted her about Annie. Jean remembered nothing after that. When she came to, the girls had been blasted backwards all the way to the other end of the gym and the wall they had cornered her against had collapsed. Along with the washroom on the other side. And a few other walls besides. Fortunately, nobody had been seriously hurt, but it had been a close thing. The school had also been shut down pending an investigation. “The school should be blamed for such shoddy construction! And those girls started that fight! Why do I get blamed for something that clearly wasn’t have been my fault?”

Her mother and father exchanged glances that Jean couldn’t decipher. Then her mother said: “Actually, Jeannie honey, it kind of was your fault.”

“What!?!” Jean couldn’t believe her ears. Had her mother lost her mind?

“Professor Xavier will explain everything, sweetie,” her father said. “Ah, here we are.”

Jean leaned over so she could see past her mother. In front of the car was a massive wrought iron fence that stretched over an equally impressive driveway before becoming a stone wall that went on for ever. Jean marveled at the length of the wall. She had no idea there was an estate that large in _Salem Center_ of all places! On the fence gate there was a sign that read: ‘1407 Greymalkin Lane’ and underneath the address: ‘Mutatis Mutandis.’ Past the gate rose a three-story mansion done in the Neoclassical style. Jean was familiar with the design; all the upper-class families in Putnam County had one. Most, though, were not as large and their lands were not as extensive. Jean’s father pulled up to the gate which swung slowly to admit them. The Greys were expected; Jean opted to take this as ominous. Jean’s father drove the car around the circular driveway until he reached the mansion’s patio.  Standing at the apex of the mansion’s circular driveway were four men, one of whom was in a wheelchair.

Jean’s father pulled up to the four men, and the Greys got out.

“Mister and Misses Grey, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” the man in the wheelchair said. He was bald, with thin eyebrows, arched eyebrows, pointed ears and light brown skin. He wore a navy blue three-piece suit over a pair of tan pleated pants. The man rolled his wheelchair ever-so-slightly closer to the Greys’ car, presumably to make it easier to shake hands with Jean’s parents, which he then did.

“It’s good to see you again, too, Professor,” Jean’s father said, as he shook the other man’s hand. “This is our daughter, Jean. Jean, this is Professor Xavier,” her father added as he gestured between them.

“Ah yes, Ms. Grey. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. I’ve heard much about you,” Professor Xavier said as he rolled his chair toward her. One of the other men, a tall, lanky sort in a tan suit and with strange dark red sunglasses reached out and helped the Professor pivot slightly so he could face Jean better. The professor for his part simply held out his hand.

Jean stood there for a second, torn between her parent’s training to always be polite and her resentment at being sent here. Eventually, her parent’s training won out, and she shook the professor’s proffered hand. “Thank you, sir, but I’m not really sure why I’m here,” she replied. “I was doing just fine in my old school.”

“Um, didn’t you blow up your school’s gym?” one of the boys asked. He was even lankier than the one in sunglasses, with spiked hair he had dyed a translucent blue. He wore a black t-shirt with a band logo on it that Jean didn’t recognize and a pair of jeans so ragged that Jean expected them to fall apart right in front of her eyes. “Not that I’m criticizing,” he hastened to add. “Blowing up a gym is awesome! But I don’t think I’d call it as ‘doing just fine,' personally. I dunno, maybe that’s just me. You think that’s just me, Hank? he asked the third member of their group, a giant of a man who looked exactly like someone had shaved a gorilla, and stuffed him into a t-shirt that read “Einstein is Awesome-stein.” His cargo pants, at least, were in better shape than his friend’s jeans.

“I was not paying attention, but I am pretty sure that’s just you, Bobby,” Hank answered as he ran his gorilla-fingers through his odd blue-black hair. “That always seems to be the most accurate deduction whenever you open your mouth, is it not Warren?” he asked the fifth and final member of the group.

“Pretty much,” Warren answered. Jean looked glanced at him and fought the urge to swoon. He was beautiful, gorgeous even. He was the tallest of the lot, and it was evident that he was built like a male supermodel underneath that exquisitely tailored vest, shirt and pants of his. He had shaggy blond hair that hung in front of his large soulful eyes that Jean felt she could get lost in for days. Jean couldn’t imagine what he was doing in this place, filled with obvious delinquents. A charity outreach, perhaps? Or perhaps he had angered his parents somehow? Jean couldn’t imagine how anybody could get angry at such a beautiful creature, but then she couldn’t imagine what such an angel was doing here, either.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Jean answered indignantly. “It was the school’s fault for such shoddy construction in the first place! Besides, those girls started it.”

 “I think perhaps we should continue this inside,” Professor Xavier said firmly. “Scott, if you’d be so kind?”

“Certainly, Professor,” said the first of the delinquents. He reached out and grabbed the handles of the professor’s chair and rotated the chair towards the mansion doors. Bobby rushed ahead to open the doors, and the others filed in. As Jean passed, Bobby made an elegant bow. Jean shot him a dirty look. Bobby laughed at her. Once they were all in, Bobby closed the door and hurried to catch up with the rest of the group. Jean looked around at the mansion. It was tasteful enough, she decided grudgingly. Once inside, the mansion had opened into a large foyer, with a set of stairs complete with a ramp in the middle of the staircase opposite the entrance. The whole room had been decorated to continue the Neoclassical theme of the mansion, lending a very old world elegance to the place. Jean wondered why on earth a man of clearly some means and power would bother with a group of such obvious delinquents? And she was quite sure that she wanted nothing to do with them.

“Jean, perhaps you could describe for me the ‘accidents’ that you’ve been having? In your words, the professor said as they walked past the stairs and a pair of elevators into a formal sitting room. The sitting room had been decorated in much the same way as had the previous room.

Jean scowled. “Those. Aren’t. My. Fault,” she ground out. “I don’t know why sometimes things fly away from me, but I didn’t throw anything! I’m done with getting blamed for things that can’t be my fault, and I’m not going to school with a bunch of-of delinquents!” she shouted the last as she glared at her parents. Her mother and father looked stricken.

“The only delinquent here is Bobby,” Scott said as pushed the professor’s wheelchair through the sitting room and to the left, down a long gallery filled with Neoclassical paintings and the occasional bronze bust of what Jean assumed where the professors’ ancestors in niches along the sides.

“Darn tootin,” Bobby said. “And don’t you forget it, honey,” he added, jabbing his finger at Jean.

“Really? What about him, mister sun-glasses-in-a-building?” Jean demanded, jabbing her own finger at Scott, who sighed in long-suffering defeat.

“Scott? Scott couldn’t break a rule if the world depended on it,” Bobby answered. “He just has, you know, an eye condition.”

“And while my appearance is most fearsome indeed, I assure you madam I am simply another scientist, eager to explore to reality in all its myriad forms,” Hank piped in from where he walked beside the group, his knuckles dragging on the ground. Jean arched an eyebrow at the gorilla’s declaration.

“It is true, though I fear the fair lady doubts me,” Hank said. “Alas, you are not the first hominid to misconstrue my gentle soul on account of my physical form.”

“You do look like a shaved gorilla,” Bobby agreed.

“Yes thank you Robert,” Hank replied with a long-suffering sigh. “Once again your grasp of the obvious remains unparalleled across the entire breadth of anthropoid experience.” Despite herself, Jean couldn’t help but giggle.

“There we go,” said the angel. “I was wondering if you could only scowl. My name’s Warren, by the way. Warren Worthington III.” At the mention of the angel’s full name, Scott scowled. Jean decided instantly that she didn’t like it when Scott scowled; it distorted his face way too much.

She looked back at Warren, turned the colour of a rose bush and scowled again. Jean couldn’t believe this was the real Warren Worthington III; the Worthington’s were among the richest families in Boston, rivalling only the Wayne-Kane clan in Gotham for money and influence among the interconnected web of Northeastern elites. What would the heir of such a powerful family being doing in a place like this?

“And we’re back to scowling again,” Warren sighed.

“It’s because she looked at you,” Scott said as he wheeled the professor out of the gallery and into a library. Jean looked around and whistled appreciatively. The library was filled with books, organized onto at least a dozen shelves that reached up to the ceiling.

“If you think this is impressive my dear, then you should know this but a sampling. There are many more books located in our basement,” Hank said.

“Yeah, this place is a regular booklover's paradise,” Bobby agreed.

“Um, not to be rude,” Jean said, “but how does the professor get the books from the top shelf?”

“Scott,” the other three boys answered. Scott cleared his throat.

“There’s, um, also an automatic chair lift,” he said, pointing towards a boxy yellow contraption with wheels that sat on the floor. “In case one of us isn’t here to help.”

“Right,” Jean said, eyeing Scott appreciatively. It was telling, very telling, that the other boys had singled him out as the one that always aided their wheelchair-bound professor, though it didn’t help her opinion of _them_ very much. Maybe this wasn’t a school for delinquents after all? But what else could it be? It sure as hell wasn’t a school for normal people! The group made a final left turn into a private office. Warren held the door open this time, allowing everybody in before closing it. Scott wheeled the professor over to a desk in the middle of the room and then stayed there like a mother hen watching her chicks. The others for their part arranged themselves on the various couches and chairs scattered around the room. Jean made sure she got the seat directly in front of the professor. She wanted to know just what this guy’s story was.

“What is this place?” Jean demanded. “And why am I here?”

“I think perhaps we should start at the beginning,” Professor Xavier said. “When I was nine years old, I thought I had gone insane. I began hearing voices.”

“Voices that told you to do what? Convert the family home into a school for delinquents?” Jean said. She wasn’t sure where this sudden fire was coming from, only that she was angry at her parent’s betrayal for dropping her off at this school for delinquents. Or worse, at a mental institute.

“Jean!” her father said, shocked, but the professor chuckled.

“No,” he said. “In fact, the voices didn’t tell me anything. That’s because they couldn’t. The voices were other people’s thoughts.”

“What?” Jean said.

“It took me a while to figure it out, of course,” the professor said. “A significant clue was the fact that the voices in my head sounded just like the voices those people used when they were speaking. But even once I had discovered what was going on, it time for me to learn how to control my powers. It wasn’t until I was twelve that I gained sufficient control of my abilities that I could function in regular society.”

“What?” Jean repeated. She couldn’t believe what she had heard. Telepathy? Just how crazy was this guy?

“At first, I thought that I was unique, or that my powers came from nuclear radiation,” the professor continued as though he hadn’t heard Jean at all. “My parents worked on the Manhattan Project, you see. It was not until much later in life, when I discovered others like me, that I learned what I was. I am a mutant. And so are you, Jean.” Jean leaned forward in her chair. She was eager now to hear the rest of the story. A mutant, her? No way. She couldn’t possibly be.

“Where was I? Oh yes. As I say, I did eventually discover other mutants whose powers were as fantastic as mine. Most of these mutants were already adults when we found each other, and with different ideas on how to handle their powers, and we did not stay together long. At the time, I still thought we were largely the result of nuclear radiation and thus did not require any significant organization. And then I discovered Scott, on the run from a foster home due to the uncontrollable nature of his powers. It was then I decided that mutants, however we came to be, needed a home. A school, where they could learn to control their powers.”

“Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters,” Jean breathed. Then she looked around at the four young men who were with the professor and asked: “Okay, so the professor is telepathic. What can the rest of you do?”

“Just call me the ‘Iceman’,” Bobby said and transformed his body into a snowman. Jean and her parents gasped.

“Once again, Robert, you have managed to get a precipitous amount of precipitation upon the carpet,” Hank said.  “If it gets mildew, I’m sure the professor will see fit to make sure it is you who replace it.” Turning to Jean, he said: “As you can see, my mutation gives me the outward appearance of a hairless gorilla. In addition, I have far greater agility, speed and strength compared to the average human being, along with a nifty little healing factor that allows me to survive far more significant injuries than most anybody else. Oh, and for reasons that will forever be beyond my comprehension, _blue_ hair. I ask you, madam, have you ever seen a gorilla with _blue_ hair?”

“Nope,” Jean answered. Bobby had reverted to his human form, and his wet t-shirt clung to his young body in ways that made it hard for Jean to not stare. Instead, she turned to the other two and asked: “And what about you two?”

Warren answered: “Well, I’m not ripping another vest just to show off, but my mutation gave me wings and a body built for flight.”

“You can fly?” Jean asked, her eyes bugging out of her head. When Warren nodded in confirmation, Jean muttered: “definitely an angel.”

“What?” Warren asked.

“What?” Jean repeated as she turned a few hundred shades redder than her hair. She couldn’t believe she said that out loud. The knowing smiles of her parents, the professor and Bobby and Hank, combined with the sudden scowl of Scott didn’t help. Determined to fix their attention elsewhere, Jean stared at Scott and said: “And what about you, slim? What’s your power? Bobby spoke of an eye condition…?”

“More like brain damage,” Scott said grimly. “My body converts solar energy into concussive blasts through my eyes. But I was injured in the accident that killed my parents. Now I can’t turn the beams off. Only these ruby-quartz visors can keep my powers in check and keep me from, you know, obliterating a build or killing my friends.”

“Oh,” Jean said. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Then she said: “What’s my power? Is it telekinesis? Because that would explain why sometimes things fly away from me. And the gym.”

“We believe so, yes,” Professor Xavier said. “Jean, we can teach you how to control your powers. But the choice is yours. Would you like to be a part of this school?”

“Yes sir,” Jean said, as she stared the professor straight in the eye. “I think I would.”

END CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, ladies, gentlemen and non-binary gendered fans of all ages! The exciting first chapter of the Uncanny X-Men! Really, this chapter is more of a prologue than anything, but Jean's adventures with the team will continue.  
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby.  
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	2. Children of the Atom, Part 2

The Uncanny X-Men, Chapter 2: Children of The Atom, Part 2

“C’mon Jean, you can do it!” Robert “Bobby” Drake shouted from the corner of the room. Bobby was a sixteen-year-old student of Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, which was a polite way of saying he was a mutant. He was of average height and build, with hair dyed icy blue and brown eyes. He was wearing a pair of dark blue shorts with a yellow X embroidered on the side and nothing else, showing off his awfully chiseled body for a sixteen-year-old. Bobby’s mutation allowed him to create ice and snow out of thin air, earning him the nickname ‘Iceman.’ “You can do it!”

“Quiet, Robert,” Hank said beside him. Henry “Hank” McCoy was a study in contrast with his best friend. Where Bobby was average size, Hank towered over his classmates. He was so broad in the shoulder he had to walk sideways through most doors. And yet, Jean knew from experience, Hank could move with a grace that would put a cat to shame. His face was circular and blocky with a small nose positioned far above his mouth. Hank was dressed much the same as Bobby, but at least he had had the decency to put on a t-shirt. Which only emphasized his bulging muscles. “You’ll ruin her concentration.”

            Jean nodded thankfully at Hank before returning to her task. Jean Grey was sixteen years old herself and newly arrived at Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters. She was of average height for a girl, with a toned, athletic body that came from a lifetime of sports such as volleyball and track and field. Jean had pulled her flame-red hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of her face as she practiced. She was wearing a blue tank top and shorts, each emblazoned with a yellow X in a circle.

They were in the Danger Room, what Professor Xavier called the school’s gym. The Danger Room was aptly named for it was an expansive square locale that held, besides the usual gym equipment, a variety of traps and obstacles that tested each of the students’ abilities. There was even, at the far end of the room, a shooting gallery for Scott’s eye blasts.

Jean, however, wasn’t doing anything so grandiose. Instead, she was struggling to lift a dummy. It wasn’t a very heavy dummy; it mimicked the weight of a small human child, and Jean could have thrown the thing around like it was, well, a rag doll with her bare hands if she wanted. But trying to lift the dummy with her mind? Forget it. She raised it a bare handful of inches before it came crashing down with a loud thud and Jean sank to her knees, shaking like cattails in the wind.

“Jean!” Scott shouted from where he stood beside Bobby and Hank, along with the other two occupants of the mansion, concern evident in his voice. Scott Summers was the eldest of Xavier’s students, both in terms of actual age and having been there the longest. He was taller than Bobby and with a lean hard runner’s body that had earned him the nickname ‘Slim’ from Jean. He had short brown hair, and a chiseled jaw. Scott wore dark red sunglasses that had earned him an unfair assessment as a delinquent from Jean when they first met. In fact, those glasses were a vital necessity, for Scott’s powers were by far the most destructive of the entire school’s. Scott had the power to generate concussive blasts from his eyes, but childhood trauma had rendered him unable to control said blasts. Now, he was cursed forever to wear glasses made of ruby-quartz so that he didn’t blow up the whole building.

Scott darted forward along with Bobby and Hank, but it was Warren who got to her first. Warren, who was as gorgeous as ever in the school’s workout outfit, carried a bottle of water in his right hand and offered it to Jean to drink. Jean grabbed the bottle out of Warren’s hand and gulped the water down greedily, emptying the bottle in seconds.

Warren Worthington III was the most beautiful person Jean had ever seen. He was tall, taller than Scott, with broad shoulders that tapered down into a narrow waist. His chest was even more chiseled than Bobby’s, for there wasn’t a drop of fat on him. Warren’s eyes were a piercing blue. Long blond hair hung down from his head, artfully messy. Like Bobby, Warren was shirtless, but at least he had an excuse: Warren’s mutation gave him wings and the power of flight, along with a certain amount of super strength.

“Jean? You all right?” Warren asked as Jean finished off the bottle of water. Scott, Bobby, and Hank had all caught up with Warren at this point and were gathered around Jean, concerned etched on every feature.

“I’m okay,” Jean said as she took deep shuddering breaths that put the lie to that statement.  She looked around at the four boys that gathered around her and was suddenly struck by the knowledge that she had four very attractive boys looking out for her welfare. She was wearing the same outfit as the boys and Jean was profoundly grateful for the fact that she was already as red as a tomato from the exertion as it hid the blush that started from her head and worked all the way down to her toes.

“You most certainly are not, young lady,” Hank said severely. “Your skin is redder than Scott’s eye blasts, and you are clearly suffering from extreme dehydration. Here,” he continued as he shoved another water bottle in her face. “Drink this. And slowly this time. You’ll make yourself sick otherwise.”

“Yes sir Doctor Hank sir,” Jean said with a cheeky grin as she took the water bottle from Hank and did indeed drink it more slowly. It was hard, though, as her body was screaming for water. Beyond Hank and Bobby, the professor chuckled.

“All right gentlemen, all right. Give the poor girl some space,” Xavier said, and the four boys reluctantly broke off. Scott reached out and gripped her tightly on the shoulder. Jean responded by putting her hand over Scott’s and letting it linger there for a second. Then Scott withdrew his hand and walked away. Jean tried to not let her disappointment show.

Turning her head toward the professor, she asked: “I don’t get it. Before, I could kick over whole rooms and even destroyed a wall once. Now I can barely lift a baby. Am I losing my powers or something?”

“Not at all,” the Professor assured her. “The difference is that those incidents were unconscious acts of pure instinct. That incident in your former school’s gym, in particular, was one where you were under a lot of stress, and all humans get stronger when the flight or fight instinct kicks in. It just so happens that the strength gain from adrenaline is translated into psychic power in your case. As to why you can’t duplicate that display of power just yet?” the Professor shrugged. “That’s very simple. You are now trying to consciously control your power, and you are running into the same roadblocks and simple ignorance of how to control your powers that everyone does when they learn a new ability,” he said. “Bobby, Warren, Hank… even Scott, who cannot turn his powers off, ran into the same problem.”

“’S true,” Bobby said, and the other three boys nodded in agreement.

Jean eyed them suspiciously and then turned her gaze over to the professor. He was dressed in a grey three-piece suit today with a red tie and he had that same paternal look on his face that he always did. Jean searched the professor’s face for any hint of patronizing. Deciding that there was none, Jean nodded slowly and got up off of her knees. She had to stop halfway up, however, as the whole room spun.

“Jean!” Scott shouted.

“I'm all right,” Jean said as she was bent over double with her hands on her knees, panting heavily. “But please don’t shout. That doesn’t help.”

“Sorry,” Scott said, and he looked down at the floor, clearly abashed even with those sunglasses of his blocking his eyes.

“It’s all right,” Jean said.

“I think we will continue with something smaller next time,” the Professor said. “Clearly, this is pushing you too far, too fast.”

“No! I can do it,” Jean protested.

“Something smaller,” the Professor said firmly and in a tone that brooked no argument. Jean glared at him without any heat and finally nodded in acceptance before being lead back to the corner of the room by Warren where she sank to the ground as soon as he let go.

“Robert, I do believe that means it’s your turn,” Professor Xavier said. Bobby turned to Jean, winked at her and strutted out towards his section of the Danger Room. Jean giggled.

“Oh do quit showing off, you narcissistic showboat,” Hank said.

“Oh come on Hank. You know you enjoy the show,” Bobby replied as he put on hand on his hips and another on the back of his hand and curved his body so that he looked like a model. Jean giggled. Bobby continued to walk in his exaggerated pose until he’d reached the part of Danger Room set aside specifically for him. One he was there, the professor hit a switch on the wall of the Danger Room, and wooden targets popped up and moved at different speeds and in different directions. His earlier showboating now forgotten, Bobby studied the targets with an intense look on his face before rapidly firing snowballs. He hit all the targets in less than two seconds, eliciting an approving whistle from Hank and a gasp from Jean. Even Scott looked impressed, or at least that’s how Jean interpreted his raised eyebrow. Bobby, though, ignored his classmates’ signs of approval. He knew that the Danger Room was meant to test his abilities, not show them off, and that the professor had to have more tricks up his sleeve than simple wooden targets. He was right, for at that moment Xavier flicked another switch and up rose a long wooden ramp. Bobby nodded to himself and stuck his hands out in front of him, blasting the area with thick ice. Sticking his hands out a little further, Bobby created an icy pathway up the ramp and into the air that he skated on. Unfortunately, a short distance from the ramp Bobby lost his concentration and the slope suddenly collapsed, causing Bobby to tumble down to the floor.

“Bobby!” Jean shouted as she scrambled up to her feet and towards her fallen friend. The three other boys and the professor were already halfway to the teen when Bobby shouted:

“I’m fine! Nothing hurt but my pride.” Bobby walked around the ramp to reveal that he had coated himself in snow before he had hit the hard gym floor. “But man, have I got to work on that ice slide trick! That’s the second time I’ve wiped out while trying it.”

“Learning a new technique is always difficult,” the professor said. “Especially when it’s a self-invented one! On the other hand, your snowball making and quick use of your snow form when endangered are very impressive Bobby, very impressive indeed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bobby said. “But I think I need to work on the snow form, too. It didn’t cushion my fall nearly as much as I would’ve liked.”

“Are you all right?” the professor asked. Bobby nodded.

“Yeah, just a little bruised,” he said.

“Very well. Take a rest, it is Hank’s turn now,” the professor said. Bobby nodded and moved back to the wall where Jean had once again sunk down to her feet. Bobby sat beside her, shedding his snow form as he did so.

Hank turned to make sure his friend was all right and then ambled over to his section of the Danger Room, walking on his knuckles as he did so. Hank’s section was a simple obstacle course, but as Jean had learned in her three days at the school, looks could be deceiving. And indeed they were. As Hank did some stretches to warm up, the professor flipped a switch on the wall, and the different obstacles in the course began to move. Hank studied them for a minute before he launched into action. First, he leaped over a rectangular barrier and flipped head over heels so that his feet caught a pair of rings that dangled from the ceiling. Hank then swung from the rings on through another three pairs before launching himself at a scaling wall. The wall turned out to be slick with grease, but Hank simply bounced off the wall on to a rope and used the momentum from his jump to swing the rope back and forth until the apex of his swing was high enough to carry him over the scaling wall. He released the rope at exactly the right moment to get maximum lift… which sent him careening towards the opposite wall, as the maximum lift was just a little too much lift. Jean gasped in fear and reached out with her telekinesis, desperate to help her new classmate, but she need not have bothered: Hank, having realized he had overshot, unfolded himself to maximize his aerial resistance. This slowed him down enough that he could roll himself back into a ball and hit the ground long before he hit the wall. Hank unfolded himself once again, looked at the wall and grunted, then looked over at the obstacle course and made another disgusted grunt. He then ambled his way back to the group, a scowl etched on his big features.

“Hank? Are you okay?” Jean asked, her voice heavy with concern.

“Positively disgusted my dear,” he said. “An utterly appalling performance on my part. A senior student of physics and what do I? I overshot the wall! I am ashamed my dear, positively ashamed.”

“I dunno, that whole ‘bounce off a greased wall and onto a rope’ thing was pretty impressive, Hank,” Bobby said. “I mean sure, you misjudged the final swing, but that rest was pretty cool.”

“Thank you for your support, Robert,” Hank said. “But I made an error that not even the most amateur of physicists would have made.”

“Uh-huh. Cause there are just so many physicists who are built like hairless gorillas and can throw themselves around like spider monkeys on speed,” Bobby said dryly. “Saw a whole whack of ‘em on T.V. last night, accepting the Nobel Prize.”

“Hysterical Robert,” Hank replied, not a little stiffly.

“Robert has a point, Hank,” the professor cut in, a gentle smile on his face. “You performed admirably on the course, and even your overshot of the wall was corrected with exquisite skill. Top marks, Hank. Top marks indeed.”

“Humph,” Hank grunted. He scratched the inside of his ear with an oversized finger and lumbered over towards where Jean and Bobby still leaned against the gym wall. Hank sat down with a meaty thump, his full features marred by a ferocious scowl. Jean reached out and laid her hand on his bicep, giving it a short squeeze. Hank looked over at her and gave her a brief smile before turning back to his brooding. His scowl was less pronounced than before, however, and Jean turned back to watch the remaining two students, satisfied that she had helped her newfound friend.

Warren was walking towards his section of the Danger Room, fluffing his wings as he did so. Jean had to force herself not to ogle at Warren’s lean, sculpted body. Bobby, naturally, made catcalls as Warren stripped, but Warren ignored him. Instead, he looked up at the rings that hung down from the Danger Room’s ceiling, too high for any normal human being to reach. Warren flapped his wings once, twice, and then took with one mighty beating of those wings. He grabbed a hold of the rings and using his momentum swung himself feet first so that when he let go of the rings, Warren was flying backwards and upside down. Which was around the same time that the hidden disc-throwers that lined the left-hand wall of the Danger Room fired. Warren twisted and rolled in a mad effort to dodge the soft discs, his wings alternating from being tucked in tight around him to acting as brakes to providing boosts of power when it looked like he had slowed down too far. Finally, Warren reached the end of the course, landing on his feet with his wings stretched out wide. Jean sought out the scoreboard that hung in the far right corner of the Danger Room with eager eyes. When she saw the numbers, she let out a great cheer.

“All right, Warren! Near-perfect score,” Bobby exclaimed, pointing at the board which read nine hundred ninety-nine shots missed and one single hit.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Warren said as he rubbed the spot on his chest where the disc had gotten through. “You know, for safety discs those things sure do sting.”

“They’re supposed to,” the professor said. “The Danger Room should test a mutant’s abilities and teach them how to survive in a hostile world. There are far too many people who would take the opportunity to shoot you down out of the sky as you well know Warren. A little pain in the Danger Room will save you a lot of pain in the real world.”

“Yeah, I get it. Bloody drills and bloodless battles, right?” Warren said with a shake of his head. Shaggy blond hair, wet with sweat, jiggled with the movement, sending droplets everywhere. “And I’d definitely rather get hit by a safety disc than a bullet. But they still sting.”

“Ah, so you’re just bitching. I got ya, I got ya,” Bobby said while he rubbed his chin with a cheeky grin on his face. “Didn’t figure you for a wuss, Angel face.”

“Laugh it up, snowman,” Warren countered with a fluttering of his wings. “I can kick your ass any day of the week.”

“That’ll be quite enough of that,” the professor scolded. “Scott, I believe it is your turn. If you would step over to the indoor firing range?”

“Of course, Professor,” Scott said. Aside from when Jean had collapsed, he had stayed near the professor, but now he walked over to the indoor firing range at the far end of the Danger Room. Jean studied him intently. She just couldn’t figure the young Scott Summers out. He was good looking, to be sure: he had light brown hair that framed a face that could have come out of the silent movie era with a sharp nose and a jawline that looked like it could fight injustice all on its own. He was built for running, with a lean, greyhound-like body. And that summed virtually all that Jean knew of Scott, for he did not interact with the other students. Whereas Bobby and Hank, Bobby especially, had accepted her as the third member of their duo and Warren had been very gentlemanly, Scott had said all of three words to her since she had moved in. Two of those had been her name. Well, six if you counted the stilted and awkward hello’s he offered her at breakfast. Bobby, Hank and even Warren all claimed that Scott was one of their best friends and they all looked up at him. Jean couldn’t figure it. From what she could see of Scott’s behaviour, he didn’t have friends and didn’t want any. Maybe it was some sort of guy thing? The boys only looked up to someone that wouldn’t give them the time of day?  It would certainly explain some of the behaviour of her previous classmates, and maybe it was true here too. All Jean knew for sure as Scott walked over to the indoor firing range was that she knew virtually nothing about the senior student here.

Scott reached the indoor firing range and turned to face down its lanes. With the flick of a switch by the professor, cardboard targets sprung up from the floor. Scott didn’t hesitate; with a sweeping blast from his eyes he cut down all the targets in a single shot. The blasted remains of the targets went down and a new set came up, this time with a subtle difference: they had been painted with guns, and with little targets on the gun. With carefully aimed and timed blasts, Scott hit each and every one of the targets painted on the guns. Jean was impressed; given the state of the previous set of targets, she would have thought even a low-power blast would leave the targets nothing more than twisted splinters flying off in every direction. But no; this set was barely touched, with only the slightest of singe marks on the gun-targets showing they had ever gone up against Scott Summers. Then that set of targets went down and a new set came up. This set kept the painted on guns but had a new wrinkle: some targets had been painted white. Jean assumed that they were civilians or maybe hostages. Scott was no less quick on the draw than he had been the first time: with a set of beautifully aimed blasts Scott nailed all the armed targets and missed every single white one. The third round of targets went down, and Jean imagined that she could pick up a sense of shame out of the hunks of cardboard. Finally, a fourth set of targets appeared. These targets included all the twists of the previous sets, but now with some doubled-headed targets that Jean was sure were hostages. And again, Scott cut down all the required targets without a second’s hesitation or a single missed blast. The targets went down, and another set did not come, but still Scott stood at the end of the range, arms folded across his chest and his head bowed.

“And in another spectacular performance surprising absolutely no one,” Bobby said in a voice that imitated sports announcers, “Scott Summers, representing Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, takes home the gold with a perfect score.”

“I think we will have to move to an outdoor range for you Scott,” the professor said as he rolled forward in his wheelchair towards his student. “These scenarios clearly aren’t challenging you and I cannot build more complex scenarios into a range this small.”

“I was two seconds slow,” Scott answered. The professor and the other three boys all stopped what they were doing and groaned loudly. Jean just gaped at the brunet. _Two seconds slow_?

“And in a post-competition interview, once again surprising no one, Scott Summers blames himself for not meeting a physically impossible standard,” Bobby said, continuing his sports-commentator impression from before but this time with a much more sour look on his face. Scott shot him a look that was hard to decipher due to his ruby-quartz sunglasses but Jean was pretty sure was disgusted. Jean, for her part, just laughed. Scott shot her an unquestionably dirty look and said:

“It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not,” Jean said as she could through the laughter. “It really isn’t. _Two_ seconds slow? Any faster and you would have broken the sound barrier!”

“Indeed,” Hank put in. “Scott, your skill with those eye-blasts is phenomenal bordering on the miraculous. You have far outstripped any of us, and I challenge any sharpshooter in the world to match you. Besides, that two seconds business is arbitrary nonsense and you know it.”

Scott turned back to face down the range, adopting an even more brooding posture. The professor shook his head in defeat while Bobby, Hank, and Jean all raised their arms in disgust. Warren alone looked amused by Scott’s antics. Turning to the professor, Warren said:

“You know, professor, I’m sure if you just went into Scott’s head and rearranged the furniture a little, you could probably unwind him a bit. Not much, but maybe just enough that he isn’t the poster child for psychotic perfectionist?”

Scott whipped around and did a mightily impressive death glare from behind those glasses of his. Warren just smiled cheekily back at him. The professor frowned at Warren.

“That would be immensely unethical, Warren,” Xavier answered. “Besides which, it could very well lobotomize Scott.”

“Who could tell?” Warren deadpanned. Scott scowled harder.

 Shaking his head again, the professor said:

“Gather around, my students. I have an announcement to make.”

“More students?” Scott asked as he walked back towards the group.

“I’m afraid not,” the professor admitted. “There are boundless rumours about potential mutants out there, of course. This Flash fellow for instance. Or Spider-Man. Or whatever is going on in Metropolis. But so far I have been unable to contact any of these individuals to ascertain whether they are, indeed, mutants. No, the announcement I wish to make is that we will soon be taking a field trip.”

“A field trip? Where?” the five young students asked in unison.

“There is an army base not far from here that happens to be run by an old friend of mine,” Professor Xavier answered. “He has agreed to give us a tour of the base on Monday.”

Jean unconsciously checked the date on her watch, despite knowing that it was Friday today.

“Three days,” Scott said slowly. “I don’t know, Professor. I don’t like this at all. What if the military has a way of discovering we’re mutants?”

“Highly improbable, Scott,” Hank interjected before the professor could say anything. “The gene that controls our mutant abilities is just that, a gene. They would need a blood test to be able to detect anything unusual about us, and as there is no reliable blood test for mutants I think we’re safe. It would be like trying to identify a trans* person by sight alone.”

“Eh, _you_ can identify a trans* person by smell alone,” Bobby pointed out as he idly scratched his chin.

“Not reliably,” Hank countered. “And I should point out that I have abilities that the average human does not.”

“True,” Warren put in with a ruffle of his wings, “but not all of us have invisible mutations, Hank. My wings kind of stand out.”

“That’s a good point,” Hank admitted. “And if the military does a full body search or even something as mundane as an X-ray, your wings will inescapably attract attention.”

“We will be with the base commander,” the professor pointed out. “Why would the military go to such security measures when we are already in the company of the base commander?”

“Security measures, for one,” Scott countered. “If anything in the base is sensitive, they may have no choice but to give us the works regardless of who we’re with. Internal politics is another. Some desk jockey with more ambition than respect for the military chain of command may decide to stick to the letter of the security regulations just to stick it to his boss.”

“That’s possible,” the professor admitted. Scott cupped his chin in one hand and paced, apparently thinking hard.

“Um,” Jean said. “Um. Couldn’t the professor cloud their minds or something? Like Obi-Wan Kenobi in _Star Wars_? These are not the mutants you’re looking for?”

“That could work,” Bobby agreed. Professor Xavier scowled.

“Violating somebody else’s mind like that is grossly unethical, Jean,” the professor said.

“It’s a good idea, Jean,” Scott said, interrupting the lecture that the professor was no doubt going to give her on the ethics of telepathy. “But I think I’ve got a better one. Your harness, Warren.”

“What about it?” Warren asked. “Scott, if you think that harness will hide me from an X-ray, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“That’s exactly what it will do,” Scott answered with a grim smile. “We’re going to tell them you have a medical condition and need that harness for… whatever condition it is we decide to give you. We’ll even bring along a spare harness to show ‘em. They won’t check a guy with back problems and if we’re upfront about it, they’ll assume that’s all we have to hide. Although we might need to dummy up the harness to make it look more like a medical brace. Hank?”

“It shall be done with exquisite ease, Scott,” Hank answered. “I’ve been meaning to take another look at the harness, anyway. You have been complaining that it is uncomfortable, right Warren?”

“Yeah,” Warren answered slowly. “I suppose that means I need to find a suitable back condition that would need a harness.”

“You are the medical expert here, Warren,” Scott agreed.

“Well don’t I feel special,” Warren said. “All right, Scott. It’s a good plan. I’ll get started right away. Hank?”

“Yes, we should probably coordinate,” Han agreed. “It would be somewhat embarrassing if I designed a harness for scoliosis and you went with muscle strain or something.”

“I doubt the goon squad could tell the difference, Hank,” Bobby said, not a little sarcastically.

“One never knows, Robert,” Hank countered.

“If that’s all then,” the professor interjected. “Then you’re free for the day. Supper will be five o’clock again today and I believe Scott that it’s your turn to cook.”

“Right Professor,” Scott said. “I’ve got some studying to do before then, too.”

“There’s a surprise,” Bobby said as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Bobby?” Jean said. Bobby looked over at her and Jean fought hard not blush or otherwise betray her nervousness as she continued:

“Um, can I get you to look at my history questions for next class? I’m kind of stuck on something.”

“Sure,” Bobby answered. If he detected her nervousness, he didn’t show it.

“And Hank and I should get on that harness,” Warren said. “I don’t think I want to end up in some kind of top-secret military science project.”

“Indeed,” Hank agreed. And with that, they all left to their various projects.

***

A little while later, Jean knocked on the door to Bobby’s room in the north wing of the mansion. On the front of the door was a large red stop sign that read:

“Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”

“Come in,” Bobby shouted through the door. Jean opened the door and entered with lots of trepidation.

Bobby’s room would have made a pigsty look clean. Clothes had been tossed all over the floor and on the bed that looked like it hadn’t been made since it was brought into the house. Magazines with covers that depicted everything from games to naked women were scattered through the laundry. On the far wall was a poster with two naked women making out. Along the inside wall sat a flat screen T.V. with all the latest video game consoles hooked up to it. Bobby at the moment was lying on the bed, playing what Jean recognized as Mario Kart 8.

“Bobby, have you ever heard of a closet?” Jean asked as she gingerly picked her way through the debris.

“Yeah, sorry about the mess,” Bobby said without turning his gaze from the game. “I’ve meant to clean it up, but I just haven’t got around to it yet, you know?”

“Clearly,” Jean said dryly. She turned her head to watch Bobby play for a second. He was in the lead, but then the computer smacked him with a red shell. Bobby, who was playing as Mario, lost control just long enough to drop from first to fifth. Bobby crossed the finish line, sighed and turned to Jean.

“So you want me to look over your history questions?” Bobby asked.

“Um yeah,” Jean said as she pulled out a sheet of paper. “Um, Bobbyareyougay?” she added, forcing the question out in a rush. She went redder than her hair as she did so.

Bobby yawned and ran a hand through his hair. “Nope,” he said nonchalantly.

“Oh,” Jean said. “It’s just… some of the things you said in practice today…”

“That’s just me goofing around,” Bobby answered as he waved his arm around at the tornado debris field that was his room. “As you can see, my main preoccupation is women.”

“I also see some naked or half-naked guys in there, Bobby,” Jean countered without heat. “I don’t know, wouldn’t a one-hundred percent straight guy stick to only girls?”

“If there was such a thing, sure,” Bobby answered. “But there isn’t, and I’m not. So no, dudes in my porn don't bother me much. Some of its even pretty good.”

“What?” Jean said, blinking at the sixteen-year-old. Bobby grinned.

“What, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of bisexuals,” he said lightly.

“Well, um. Er. The kids at school always said they were just confused,” Jean admitted.  “Or were just trying to make guys jealous.”

“Typical,” Bobby said disgustedly. “What, fifty, sixty years since Kinsey? And people still believe that patriarchal, sexual-binary crap. Good grief.”

“What?” Jean asked again. She felt very much like a toddler exploring the world for the first time, and she was starting to resent it. Bobby, for his part, didn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, so a brief rundown of the history of human sexuality, which is really too weird for anything other a synopsis anyway,” Bobby said he adjusted himself on the bed. Once he was settled, he continued: “So, for about the ten thousand years plus of human civilization, most people were functionally bisexual. They got married and had kids, but they would frequently have sex with the same gender, too. Dude-on-dude is especially well documented, mostly in places like Ancient Greece and Japan, but there are reports of it showing up in just about every culture that ever existed. A lot of Early Medieval love poetry, both Muslim and Christian, is about beautiful boys for example. Girl-on-Girl is less well documented, but there is Sappho and… let’s be serious here, why do you think the Island of Lesbos became associated with gay chicks?”

“I didn’t know that ‘lesbian’ came from the name of an actual island,” Jean admitted. “That’s… kind of cool, actually.”

“Just how sheltered were you?” Bobby asked as he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, extremely sheltered,” Jean admitted cheerfully. “Though I didn’t realize how sheltered. I don’t think my parents were homophobic or anything. It just… wasn’t talked about, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said, just a little dryly. “I know.”

“Anyway, all of that changed in the early part of the seventeenth century,” Bobby continued with a slight frown on his face. “There’s a lot of reasons for that, but in the Anglosphere, the change mostly centres around King James I of England and VI of Scotland. The guy had a lot of issues around witchcraft, divine right of kings and homosexuality. It was during his reign that the crime of sodomy became specifically about dude-on-dude. It was also during his reign that the English did witch-hunts, which should tell you just what kind of guy James I was. So from about the early sixteen hundreds until around nineteen fifty, most people just acted in ways we would consider het today. It’s debatable just how het they really were because the terms ‘heterosexual’ and ‘homosexual’ weren’t coined until the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, respectively.”

“So if people didn’t use those terms to describe themselves, we probably shouldn’t either, is that what you’re saying?” Jean asked with a frown.

“That’s the professor’s take,” Bobby agreed with a nod. “And mine, too, for that matter. Anyway, in the fifties this guy named Kinsey showed up. He was a biologist specializing in animal sexuality, and he wanted to study human sexuality the same way he did animal sexuality.”

“Bet there was a lot of resistance to that,” Jean muttered.

“Oh, big time,” Bobby agreed with another nod. “Not that it stopped Kinsey and his wife. They went out, got a metric shit-ton of volunteers and… experimented. Heavily. After all was said and done, he came up with something called the Kinsey Scale: a sliding scale of bisexuality that we all sit on.”

“So, technically, we’re all bisexual?” Jean asked sceptically, one eyebrow raised.

“Not quite,” Bobby said. “But pretty close. See, Kinsey missed a few things. The first big one he missed was the asexual spectrum. You see, some people aren’t attracted to others of any sex, or are attracted but seriously uninterested in sex. Kinsey eventually added asexuality to his spectrum, but it was just the single category and didn’t really reflect the reality of asexual people. The other big thing he missed was trans* people.”

“Now _that_ I’ve definitely heard of,” Jean said. “There was a big kerfuffle at one of my schools over whether to de-gender the bathrooms because of some trans* students we had.”

“Yeah, that’s an issue,” Bobby agreed. “What do you think?”

“About the bathrooms?” Jean asked. When Bobby nodded, Jean shrugged. “I get it from both sides, to be honest. I’ve had to run into the girls room more than once to escape a guy, and I think trans* people deserve that kind of space too. But on the other hand if we de-gender the bathrooms wouldn’t that take away those safe spaces? Because guys can get in and do some damage? And it’s the regular, non-trans* guys I’m worried about, not the trans* ones so much. No offense, Bobby, but your gender doesn’t have the best track record with playing nice with others.”

“The proper term is ‘cis,'” Bobby corrected mildly. “Calling us non-trans* types ‘regular’ is opening an ugly can of worms. And you’ve hit the problems, all the problems, right on the head. That’s why the professor just built separate restrooms for any trans* students we might have.”

“Be a bit expensive for the public system, though,” Jean pointed out.

“And that’s the other problem,” Bobby agreed. “Anyway, the point is that once we recognized that there were people who didn’t fit the gender binary, Kinsey’s little scale was looking seriously out of date. This is where the terms ‘pansexual’, ‘polysexual’ and ‘monosexual’ come in. And according to the most modern research, what we really are is some variety of _polysexual_ with some of us being more monosexual than others. And then there’s the asexuality spectrum on top of that.”

“Right,” Jean said, feeling only mildly confused. “And you are…?”

“I figure I’m about ninety percent het,” Bobby said confidently. “Mostly I like women, but I have no problem with admiring a good-looking dude either. Like Idris Elba or Yul Brynner, for example. Hank is somewhere on the asexual spectrum. I don’t know where and I don’t think he does, either. He just figured one day that ‘asexual’ fit him better than any other label and worked with it. Warren’s pretty much the platonic ideal of bisexual, and the professor is pan all the way.”

“That makes sense for a telepath,” Jean said thoughtfully. “I suppose if you can read someone’s mind and connect with them that intimately, physical gender will look pretty silly to you. But I thought Hank had a girlfriend?”

“Well, Vera’s definitely a girl, and she’s definitely a friend,” Bobby said slowly, “but I don’t know what their relationship is exactly ‘cause Vera’s on the ace spectrum, too. Besides, just because somebody’s asexual doesn’t mean they’re aromantic.”

“Aromantic?” Jean repeated blankly. Then she frowned. “You mean there’s another spectrum on top of all the ones we discussed?” she demanded.

“Yep,” Bobby said with a laugh. “There’s the romantic spectrum; who you’re attracted too emotionally rather than physically. So Hank could easily be a gynoromantic asexual.”

“Good grief,” Jean said with a shake of her head. “What about Scott?” she asked.

“Scott’s repressed,” Bobby said with a hint of scorn in his voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy dearly. But he’s too repressed to fit on the spectrum. Any spectrum.”

“Somehow, I believe you,” Jean said dryly. Then she shook her head again. “Man, this is complicated. I don’t suppose there're any books I could read on the subject? You know, help it make sense? Or at least, easier to remember?”

“Yep,” Bobby said. He glanced across his room and said: “You’ll have to give me a sec, though. I’m not sure where I put all that stuff.”

“And if I went looking for it, the mess would probably come alive and eat me,” Jean said with her own glance across the room.

“Hey!” Bobby said indignantly. “It’s not that bad! And who’s helping you with your homework, huh?”

“Sorry,” Jean said, grinning at Bobby. Then she turned to her notes and said: “I got to admit, _Dark Night of the Soul_ makes a heck of a lot more sense now. I always knew it was about Jesus, but I just couldn’t figure out why St. John was talking about Jesus like he would a lover. That nobody is completely straight answers a lot of questions.”

“Oh, it’s a lot more complicated than that,” Bobby said as he reached over and grabbed her notes to read. “There’s a whole cultural context thing going here with the good St. John, and Jesus-as-a-lover was a major genre of poetry back in the day. Still is, in some circles.”

“Really?” Jean said. She adjusted herself on the bed so that she was leaning in closer to Bobby, eager to hear what he said next.

“Really,” Bobby answered. “So it goes like this…”

End Chapter

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Getting into the meat, a little, of the X-Men and their training. More adventures to come!  
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby.  
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files: The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files: The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	3. Children of the Atom, Part 3

The Uncanny X-Men, Chapter 3: Children of the Atom, Part 3

It was a cold, miserable and rainy Monday morning, even for September. If you looked outside at the grounds of the Xavier mansion, all you would see is a grey mist that covered the grounds, cutting off all visibility for anything more than a few feet. Scott Summers looked outside at the big bay windows that occupied the exterior wall of one of the many sitting rooms that doubled as a classroom and sighed.

Scott was tall and lean, built for running. His face was angular, with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. His brown hair was cut short. Scott wore a white dress shirt with a dark blue tie over tan slacks. Grey socks were just visible over a pair of brown slippers. Over his eyes he wore a pair of sunglasses made of ruby-quartz. Those sunglasses were specially designed to protect the world from Scott’s powers.

For Scott Summers was a mutant. His power allowed him to generate tremendous beams of concussive force through his eyes. Unfortunately, in the accident that killed the rest of his family, Scott had suffered permanent brain injury. He could no longer control his awesome powers; only those ruby-quartz shades stopped him from destroying everything in sight.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Professor?” he asked, turning his head slightly to face the bald man sitting in the wheelchair in the sitting room.

“It will be fine, Scott,” Professor Charles Xavier answered as he put his now empty cup of tea down on the side table on his right. Xavier was a fantastic figure in his own right: the most powerful telepath in the world, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He was bald, with light brown skin and thin arching eyebrows that gave him a fearsome look. He wore a navy blue suit with a red and blue tie over a white shirt. The professor sat comfortably in his wheelchair, the relic of previous adventures. Years ago, after retiring from adventuring, he had established Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, a training ground for mutants to defend themselves from a world that hated and feared them. Scott was his first student, and very much the son the professor never had. He was also an incessant worry wort.

“It will be fine, Scott,” the professor repeated. “Hank and Warren have come up with an excellent excuse for Warren’s harness, one that should prevent any serious questioning. Likewise with your glasses. We should have no trouble at all.

“I was talking about the weather,” Scott replied, turning back to the rain. “You can’t see anything out there.”

“It’s pretty nasty,” Warren Worthington III agreed from behind the professor. Warren Worthington III, heir to the Worthington foundation, was another mutant. His mutation was wings that gave him the power of flight, along with angelic beauty. Blue eyes peered out through styled blond hair. He wore a grey vest over a white shirt with the collar unbuttoned. Black slacks stopped at the ankle, revealing bare feet. In his right hand was a bottle of orange and cream soda. “But come on, Scott. It’s not like the professor hasn’t driven in this weather before. And we got those new anti-slick tires on and everything. Let’s quit stalling and get a move on.”

“Agreed,” Hank McCoy chimed in from the chaise lounge he was sitting opposite the professor. Hank was dressed far more casually than either Scott or Warren, wearing merely an olive green t-shirt that said: ‘Bow before your Engineer Overlords’ and a pair of cargo shorts. He was another mutant though his mutation was less extreme than either Scott’s or Warren’s. Hank had all the speed, agility and strength of a gorilla, along with an accelerated healing factor. “All this waiting around is fraying my usually endless patience. Let’s get a move on, Scott!”

“And Bobby makes three,” Bobby Drake said. He was dressed as casually as Hank in a blue shirt with black writing on it that read: ‘Iceman Cometh’ and a pair of slightly longer cargo shorts. He was in an overstuffed chair that sat at an acute angle to Hank. Robert ‘Bobby’ Drake was the fourth and youngest member of Xavier’s students. His power was to create and control ice, including making himself into a snowman. Bobby was of average height and build, with dyed blue hair and brown eyes. “What about you, Jean? Ready to get this show on the road?”

“Huh?” Jean asked, blinking like a concussed owl as she looked up from the book she had been reading.  Jean Grey was the newest of Xavier’s students, having just enrolled. She was of average height for a woman her age, but with a lean toned body from track and field. Her long red hair curled around her as she sat on the love seat opposite the bay window. She wore a blue blouse and tan pants. Jean’s mutant power was that of telekinesis, the ability to lift objects with her mind. Unfortunately, Jean still wasn’t great with her powers yet, though she had progressed by leaps and bounds even over the past week. Once she had struggled to lift even a doll; now she could lift a whole person!

  Jean hadn’t been paying the slightest attention to the conversation; she had been too engrossed in the book that Bobby had lent her on human sexuality. In fact, since she had left Bobby’s room last Friday, that had been virtually all she had read. Jean had found the entire concept insanely fascinating, and after she was finished with this book, she intended to raid the school’s library and get as many books as she could on human sexuality.

“Stay focused, Jeannie,” Bobby said. “We’re trying to get old worry wort over here to get moving.”

“Huh?” Jean asked, looking up at the window. When she saw the rain coming down, she said: “Oh wow that’s nasty. When did that happen?”

“It’s been like that all morning,” Scott said sourly. “Which means the roads will basically be rivers.”

“Well, that’s just nasty,” Jean said. She stared at the weather for a second or two more and then shrugged and went back to her book. Bobby, Warren and Hank all shot her highly amused looks. Bobby turned to Hank and said, a sly grin on his face:

“Jeez Hank, she might just be as big a nerd as you!”

“I refuse to be judged on my nerdiness by a man who spends his evenings correcting everybody’s historical analyses on Tumblr,” Hank replied, with just a hint of miffed dignity.

Scott turned to the window, checked his watch and said: “All right, fine. Let’s get going. I’ll take the professor. Warren, get the doors. Hank, Bobby, grab Jean. I don’t think she’s really aware of what’s going on at the moment.”

“Right,” the rest said. Scotty moved over to grab Professor Xavier and grabbed the handles on the back of his wheelchair. Warren put his bottle of orange and cream soda down and went over to get the front door, but not before he grabbed all of their coats out of the closet and tossed them towards the others. Scott caught both his and the professor’s and helped Xavier put on his jacket before Scott put on his. Bobby and Hank each caught theirs. Jean, on the other hand, was so engrossed in her book that she did not understand what was going on and her coat caught her smack in the face. Jean didn’t react at all. Hank and Bobby sighed and went over to put Jean’s jacket on her and then lifted her up to take her to the car. Jean didn’t even notice.

***

The professor’s custom blue and gold 1965 Bentley S3 rolled up to the gates of Fort Oswald, located half-an-hour to the north of Xavier’s school, to the appreciative glance of the uniformed guards woman stationed in the booth. The professor pulled up to the booth, rolled down the window, pulled out his wallet to show his I.D. to the guards woman and said:

“Professor Xavier and students, here by invitation of Colonel Rothstein.”

“Yes sir, he’s expecting you,” the guards woman said after checking his I.D. “If you could park in the visitor’s parking over on the north side of the base, please?”

“Certainly,” Xavier replied. He pulled his arm back into the car, rolled up the window and placed his wallet back into his suit jacket’s pocket. The guards woman hit a switch on her console and the yellow-and-black striped arm blocking the professor’s car lifted up. Xavier shifted gears and gently pushed down on the pedal, causing the car to glide smoothly forward. Once Xavier was past the booth, he turned gently to the left, and then to the right again after a few seconds to get to the visitor’s parking that the guards woman had indicated. Once in the visitor’s parking, Xavier had to wait for another, more official and military-looking vehicle to clear the lanes before Xavier could get to designated parking space at the eastern end of the parking lot. Fortunately, that was the direction the other vehicle was going as well, so at least Xavier didn’t have to try to maneuver to let them out. Once the other vehicle was safely past, Xavier drove up to the designated handicapped space and inserted his car smartly into the spot. Once he was fully parked, Scott got out of the front passenger seat and hurried around to the back to grab the professor’s wheelchair from the trunk which the professor had already popped open. Scott pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk and unfolded it, before wheeling the contraption over to the right side of the car where he opened the professor’s door and helped Xavier into the wheelchair. Once all that was done, Warren and Bobby exited out of the right-side rear passenger door. Only Hank and Jean were left. Hank sighed, undid his seatbelt, turned to his right,  and gently poked Jean with one of his sausage-fingers.

“Jean, my dear, while I do appreciate your commitment to expanding your intellectual horizons, we have arrived at the base. Perhaps we should contemplate leaving the vehicle, hm?”

Jean ignored him in favour of continuing to read her book. Her face was so close to the pages that Hank was surprised that Jean did not have newsprint on her eyeballs.

Sighing yet again, Hank opened the left side passenger door and got out. He then turned around and bent down back into the car. Once in position, Hank fumbled with Jean’s seatbelt a bit before getting it off her. Jean did nothing to hinder her fellow student, but she did nothing to help him, either. Once Jean’s seatbelt was off, Hank lifted her up and out of the car before setting her down on the curb on the car's left. Hank sighed, stretched, and then helped Jean to her feet before brushing her off. Once Hank was satisfied that Jean was at least semi-presentable again, he turned her around so that she was facing forward and gently pushed her on the small of her back to get her moving. Jean, at last, noticed that something was going and looked up from her book. Realizing where she was, Jean closed the book so that her index finger held her place and hustled to the front right corner of the car where the others had assembled. Once there she promptly opened the book and stuck her nose back in it. Hank, who had followed closely behind Jean, sighed once more.

In front of the professor’s car was a length of sidewalk that stretched the length of the visitor’s parking lot and behind that was a squat building made of cement with a corrugated green tin roof. Standing on the sidewalk were several Army officers, all grinning with amusement at Xavier’s student's antics. One of them, a man with brown that was greying at the temples and who wore the service dress of a full colonel, spoke up:

“Interesting book, miss?”

“Yes sir,” Jean answered without bothering to look up from the book. The officers chuckled.

“We haven’t seen her all weekend,” Warren complained. “It’s all Bobby’s fault,” he continued, jabbing a finger at the young man in question.

“Is not!” Bobby protested. “It’s not _my_ fault Jean’s so sheltered! All I did was give her the damn book.” Turning to the officers, Bobby explained: “She’s new. Grew up in some high-class, ultra-ritzy environment. Sheltered as all hell.”

“Ah,” the officers said as they nodded in understanding.

“As I recall, you weren’t that much different when you first joined the Army, Colonel Rothstein,” Xavier said with a small smirk as rolled up the little ramp that had been cut into the sidewalk lining the front of the parking lot.

“I could move on my own,” Colonel Rothstein replied as he moved to shake the professor’s hand. His beret was perched back far enough on his head to reveal a receding hairline and his eyes were covered by tinted aviators. “I think. It’s good to see you again, Xavier.”

“I doubt that sir,” one of the other officers said. This one was a woman in the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel with the same aviators as the colonel. A small upturned nose rested a comfortable distance above heart-shaped lips whose only decoration appeared to be lip gloss. That seemed to be the only decoration the lieutenant-colonel had; there was no other makeup or jewelry visible on her. A beret sat on top of fine brown hair that had been done up in a bun. “That you could move on your own, that is. You still need my help to move after all.”

“My second-in-command, Lieutenant-Colonel Maria Hernandez,” Rothstein said wryly, gesturing to the woman in question.

“My students: Scott Summers,” the professor said, gesturing to the young man hovering behind his wheelchair. Scott nodded curtly, his own ruby-quartz sunglasses hiding the fact that he was watching the officers very carefully indeed. “Warren Worthington III,” Xavier continued, gesturing to Warren, who had moved up to the right of Xavier and gave the officer’s a two-fingered salute. “Bobby Drake,” the professor continued, pointing at Bobby, who just nodded. “Hank McCoy.” Hank, when his name was called said:

“Greetings and salutations, my friends. I hope you were not washed away in our little rainstorm this morning.”

“And our latest addition, Jean Grey,” Xavier finished, gesturing to the only woman in his small entourage. Jean merely looked up from her book, waved hello and dived back in. The officers chuckled once more.

“It’s good to see you again, Charles,” Colonel Rothstein said warmly. “If you’ll just follow me…”

****

“We were worried about nothing,” Bobby said confidently an hour later, as the students and Xavier had stopped in the bases’ canteen for lunch. Bobby, Hank, Warren, Scott and Jean all sat around a metal fold-out table in the middle of the room while the professor was eating with the colonel at the far end.

“Keep your voice down, Bobby,” Warren hissed, “or we will have something to worry about.”

Bobby looked around the sparsely occupied cafeteria. “I’m really worried,” he said sarcastically.

“Still, Robert, it’s probably best if we draw no more attention to ourselves than necessary,” Hank said with a quick glance around the room of his own. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Huddling around the table and whispering like a bunch of conspirators is what will attract attention,” Jean said firmly. The others turned to in her surprise; that was the most she had said in three days. She returned the boys gaze with a frown of her own and said:

“What? It’s true.”

“Jean’s right,” Scott said and with visible effort leaned back in his chair and relaxed his posture. Jean giggled at how awkward and unrelaxed Scott looked. Scott arched an eyebrow at her and continued: “If we look like we’re trouble, they will think we’re trouble. Calm down guys. The professor will warn us if there’s any trouble.”

Bobby grinned and rolled up his napkin, which he bounced off Warren’s head. Warren made a sound like a cat being trodden on and grabbed the rolled-up napkin, which he whipped at Bobby. Bobby laughed and blocked the ball before returning the favour. Hank rolled his eyes. Scott and Jean shared quick amused glances. Just then, a strong wind blew past them, blowing all the plates and food around, and knocking Jean’s hair all out of place.

“Bobby,” Scott said, his voice low and worried.

“It wasn’t me!” Bobby protested as he looked around the room in bewilderment.

“What the hell was that?” Jean demanded as she tried to pull her hair out of her eyes.

“Yeah, did somebody turn on a wind machine or what?” Warren asked. His hair was just as mussed as Jean’s, but at least it was short enough not to get all over his face.

Bobby started to answer, but Scott cut him off.

“It’s a mutant,” he said sharply. “C’mon. Whatever they want, we have to stop them.”

“Um, why?” Bobby asked. “Isn’t protecting the base the military’s problem?”

“They can’t take care of a mutant,” Scott answered shortly. “Come _on_ , Bobby. Move!”

“All right, all right,” Bobby said as he scrambled out of his chair.

“I don’t deny that the military is somewhat outclassed here, Scott,” Hank said as he got out of his chair, “but how exactly do you intend to stop this particular mutant? I presume whoever they are, they have the very least super speed.”

“Jean,” Scott said, pointing surreptitiously at the guard standing by the door to the canteen. “That guard was checking you out. Take advantage of that, distract him. We’ll slip out as you’re doing that.”

“I don’t know how to flirt!” Jean snapped, her face redder than an overripe tomato.

“You don’t need to flirt, you just need to keep him busy,” Scott said. “Once we’re out there, we’ll connect with the professor and try to track this mutant down.”

“Right,” Jean said nervously and walked over to the guard.

“Um, hi? Um, sir?” Jean asked once she had approached the guard.

“Oh, it’s not sir, miss,” the guard said. He was a tall man, with dark brown eyes and matching skin. He wore the same fatigues that the rest of the base wore and his name tag read: “Johnson.” “I’m a private. Brand new. Abraham Johnson.”

“Jean Grey,” Jean replied. Johnson’s eyes were focused on her with a disconcerting intensity, and it was all Jean could do to not look away. “It’s um, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Private Johnson sir.”

Johnson chuckled at that. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Grey. What can I do for you? You’re with that school the base commander’s giving the tour for, right?”

“Right,” Jean said, with a quick nod of her head. “Um, well I just saw you standing all alone out here, and I was wondering why? ‘Cause that just seemed odd to me?”

“Eh, I’m just on guard duty, miss,” Johnson replied. “Even the canteen needs somebody to keep an eye on it, from time to time. Food fights, miss,” Johnson added with a conspiratorial whisper. “Popular among the soldiers. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Um, no. Of course not,” Jean said with a frown. “Um, that just seems kind of cruel, though. Making you stand guard while everybody else eats.”

“Oh, we work in shifts, miss,” Johnson said. “So in a few minutes, it’ll be my turn to eat, and somebody else will have to stand guard.”

“Oh,” Jean said. Just then, she felt the other students brush past her. Johnson didn’t seem to notice, all his attention was on Jean. Jean fought very hard not to sag in relief. Her part in this was almost over. “Um. One other question. Where’s the bathroom?”

“Just out through this door and down the hall,” Johnson said, as he pointed down the corridor. “First door on your left.”

“Thank you,” Jean said, and she hurried out the door.

***

 _Are you sure this is a good idea, Professor?_ Scott asked his mentor through their telepathic link..

 _We cannot let Quicksilver run all over the base,_ Xavier answered as Scott sidled up to a corner in one of the bases many hallways. Scott stood there for a minute, observing the security camera that covered the next stretch of hallway. Once Scott was sure he knew the camera’s scan pattern, he made his move. With a short burst of speed, Scott launched himself towards the opposite wall, just underneath the camera. The camera which had swiveled to the left and thus away from Scott, missed his maneuver entirely.  Scott then edged his way to the left, careful to stay as close to the wall as possible and thus within the camera’s blind spot. _You know who he works for,_ Xavier added. _Do we really want Erik to have access to military knowledge?_

 _We don’t know that it’s Quicksilver_ , Scott pointed out.

 _There are not a lot of people with super speed,_ Xavier countered. _Off hand, aside from Pietro, I can think of two. The Illinois Flash and Superman in Metropolis. Both of whom have military bases much closer that they can pilfer. No, this is Magneto’s handiwork. And he needs to be stopped._

 _Can’t argue with that,_ Scott admitted. _But we are seriously under-prepared here._

 _Unfortunately, this is true,_ Xavier conceded. _But there is nothing else for it. We will have to make do. I’m patching you in with the others._

 _Thanks, professor,_ Scott said. _Guys? Can you hear me?_

 _Scott?_ Jean asked. _Scott? Is that you?_

 _Jean?_ Scott replied. He hoped that she didn’t catch the way his mental voice raised in excitement at hearing hers and silently cursed himself for the slip. A stunningly beautiful young woman like Jean had no business with somebody as cursed as he was. _Jean, it’s me, Scott. Where are you?_

 _This is amazing,_ Jean said instead of answering the question. _But I think we might have a problem. I don’t think our speedster mutant is alone out here._

 _Oh?_ Scott asked as he reached a section of the wall that extended out from the rest of the wall for a hand span and then  back in. Opposite the protruding section of the wall was a door with no markings; the first door that Scott had seen in this entire corridor. Underneath the door, Scott could see light. He could also hear the telltale sounds of a speedster ransacking a room.

 _Oh,_ Jean thought back at Scott firmly. _I made it out of the cafeteria and was heading towards the washroom when suddenly a big group of guards ran past me. I followed them out to where the armies vehicles are parked, like the tanks and stuff? And something’s happening to them. The tanks and jeeps, I mean. Some are exploding, others are kind of… I dunno half-melting I guess? And a bunch of other stuff, too. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to happen the same way twice, if that makes sense?_

 _It does,_ Scott thought grimly. The mutant in the bases’ vehicle lot had to Quicksilver’s twin sister, the Scarlet Witch. Which meant almost certainly that the person in the room in front of Scott was Quicksilver. _Okay, Jean. I need you to tell me exactly where you are and what you can see._

 _Um, right,_ Jean replied, and Scott could hear her take a deep, steadying mental breath. _Um, I’m at the back of the base, underneath a security camera_ , she said. _Out of sight, out of mind, right? Anyway, right in front of me is a barbed wire fence. Judging from the warning signs, I guess the fence is electrified, too. Um. The lot’s divided into a bunch of smaller lots, by the same barbed wire. Whoever the mutant is, she’s gone through about half the vehicles in here. Wait! I see her. Way over at the back right-hand corner. ‘Bout my height, I guess. Dressed in a long red robe thing and with some kind of weird headdress. She’s waving her hands around in some sort of weird mystical gesture thing. Are we sure she’s a mutant?_

 _She’s a mutant_ , Scott thought grimly. _Not the most powerful one in the bunch, but a mutant. Be careful, Jean. She’s not especially violent and will probably run away as soon as she catches sight of you, but she might not. And her hex bolts are surprisingly nasty._

 _One of these days buster, you will tell me how you know so much about this mutant,_ Jean thought severely back at him. _But I’ll be careful, Scott,_ she added in a more gentle tone.

 _Good,_ Scott replied. _Bobby? Warren? Hank? Are you guys there?_

 _I’m over by the base’s power generators, Scott,_ Hank answered. _Unfortunately, I’m not alone. There’s another fellow here, quite large. And I mean that both in the sense of his height and girth. In fact, he looks rather like he could eat that Sandor Clegane fellow whole and not notice._

 _Great_ , Scott thought. _Keep an eye on him, Hank. I don’t like the sounds of that guy._

 _Indubitably,_ Hank answered.

 _Scott, I’m above the base but below their radar_ , Warren called out. _I can see Hank and Jean, and their opponents. Can’t see you or Bobby, though. There’s something else out here, too. Something odd. It looks like a bush, but it’s in the middle of a field, and the bush is flickering like mad. I can’t figure it._

 _Hm_ , Scott said. _Warren, where the bush is located, do the mutants Hank and Jean are facing have easy access to it? And would it be easy to escape from the base from there?_

 _Yeah,_ Warren answered. _Why? You think maybe it’s a disguised escape route or something?_

 _Or something,_ Scott answered grimly. _Bobby, where are you?_

 _Hiding behind a corner a little north of where Warren’s bush is_ , Bobby answered. _Maybe he can’t see me, but I sure can see him. I got a pretty good look at that bush, too, and you’re right Scott. It’s definitely a disguised car; you can see it through the flickers. But there're two guards out here, and they haven’t noticed anything weird about the bush. I think we’re dealing with a mutant whose ability is illusions, and they rigged this illusion so it works on the guards but didn’t count on us._

 _Could be,_ Scott agreed. _Okay, here’s what we will do. Hank, Jean, try to scare your targets towards Bobby and Warren. Once there, Bobby will freeze the car and let the base handle it from there. Don’t let ourselves get caught or seen. If it’s down to stopping these mutants and getting caught or letting them go, let them go._

 _Right,_ the three other boys agreed. Jean said:

_What about you?_

_Don’t worry about me, Jean,_ Scott replied. _I’ve got everything under control._ With that, he darted towards the door, wrenched it open, and with his free hand lifted his glasses up and blasted a trench into the floor. Hopefully, wide and deep enough to stop the mutant currently rifling through the files contained within the room.

The mutant in question didn’t even look up from the files he was reading. “Hi Scott,” he said casually, finishing that file and grabbing another. His hands were a blur and Scott was surprised the pages didn’t catch fire he was flipping through them so fast. “I thought I recognized you over at the cafeteria. And you brought some friends, too! Now isn’t that nice? I especially liked that redhead. Oh boy, what a knockout! Please, please tell me you asked her out. I’m begging you, man. Restore this poor boy’s faith in humanity.”

“Pietro,” Scott said, folding his arms across his chest. “You want to explain what you and your sister are doing here? And why you’re still working for your father?”

Pietro sighed. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” he said as he turned around. He was a tall, lanky young man with nary a trace of fat on his body and sharp angular features. His hair was pure silver, cut much shorter than Scott remembered. His eyes were still the same oddly intense blue though. Pietro wore a skin-tight silver and green costume that Scott assumed was designed to survive the speeds at which Pietro Maximoff liked to travel.  “C’mon, Scott! This repression isn’t healthy for you, man. And she really is cute as hell.”

“Stick to the topic, Pietro,” Scott said. “What the hell are you and Wanda doing here? And who are the new friends you’ve brought? More of your father’s lackeys?”

“What makes you think I’m still working for my father?” Pietro said lazily as he leaned back against the table.

“Your fashion sense,” Scott said. “Or the lack of it.”

“This coming from a man who thinks suits are casual wear,” Pietro shot back. “Seriously, Scott. They’re called t-shirts, man. And shorts. Might want to look into them.”

“You know, I always wondered if ‘dodge the question’ was part of your power set, or if you’re just so naturally scatterbrained you couldn’t stay on a topic to save your life,” Scott said. “Let’s try this again. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

“Hm. Kicking your ass,” Pietro replied, and he moved, nothing more than a blur. Scott had assumed that he would break left and thus blasted the filing cabinet in that direction. Pietro, however, broke _right_ and ran along the cabinets to avoid the trench Scott had blasted earlier before slugging Scott right in the jaw. Scott crumpled, and Pietro stepped over him, but not before leaning down and whispering in Scott’s ear:

“Seriously, Summers. Ask the redhead out. You’ll thank me later.” With that, he was off in a flash. Scott clambered gingerly back to his feet, just as the alarm bells in the base rang.

 _I hope everybody else is doing better than me,_ Scott thought as looked around the hall and tried to figure out a way to follow Pietro without getting caught himself.

END CHAPTER

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:  
> Shortly after I wrote the original draft of this chapter, and posted it, I discovered that Xavier had created the X-Men in response to the Shadow King. And here I made it so that Scott was the guy that came up with the idea. Whoops. So this chapter and the next one will probably have the most extensive re-writes of the lot, as I screwed up their characters a little bit. Oh well. Next time, we get to see Scarlet Witch, Blob, and Mastermind (sort of) and a taste of their fantastic powers! Until next time, true believers!  
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby.  
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	4. Children of the Atom, Part 4

The Uncanny X-Men, Chapter 4: Children of the Atom, Part 4

Jean was sneaking her way towards the other mutant in the vehicle lot, careful to stay low so that the other mutant couldn’t spot her. As she did so, Jean heard the vehicles sparking and melting around her.

 _Great,_ Jean thought. _Of all the evil mutants out there, I get the pyromaniac! And how the hell does Scott know her? God, I hope he’s okay._ Jean continued to sneak around the corner of one of the vehicles when she heard the other mutant speak.

“What? Pietro, I can’t understand you, you’re speaking too fast again… Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can.” There was silence and then:

“You can come out. I know you're there. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Jean weighed her options. On the one hand, Scott had warned her that this mutant was dangerous. Maybe she was sincere. Maybe Jean could talk to her, convince her to give up whatever she was doing? Jean thought about it for a minute or two, but in the end, there was only once choice. Jean was a lover, not a fighter, and so she stood up from behind the car she was currently hiding behind and said, as loudly, clearly, and firmly as she was capable of in the circumstances said:

“I’m coming out now! Don’t shoot!” and she walked out from behind the car with her arms held out from her body and her hands splayed out to the side so that the other mutant wouldn’t get any ideas. The other mutant, for her part, stayed where she was, in the middle of a collection of ruined jeeps, tanks and other vehicles Jean didn’t recognize.

It was the first good like that Jean had got of the other mutant, and Jean had to fight a gasp for the woman was simultaneously beautiful and slightly ridiculous. Long flowing auburn hair was held away from the woman’s face by an m-shaped face mask that left the face open. It was more like some kind of weird headband than a mask, really. A long red cape hung over a pink gauzy body suit that would have been indecent if it were not for the red leotard that was worn over it. Red pirate boots, of all things, completed the outfit, matched by red gloves with the ends rolled up on her hands.

But if her outfit was ridiculous, the woman more than made up for it with her looks. Besides the auburn hair, which Jean wanted to run her fingers through more than she cared to admit, her skin was the colour of fine porcelain. Eyes that were a bright, vivid reddish-brown seemed to dance with some inner joy as she stared Jean down. Lips that would have been a little too full on another fit perfectly on the woman’s rounded face and were painted a dark scarlet. And however silly the outfit might be, Jean had to admit the woman had the curves to pull it off.

“Fond of blue, are we?” the other mutant asked, pointing to Jean’s blue outfit. She tried to sound tough and confident, but Jean picked up a note of hesitation in there. And youth. Jean hadn’t noticed it before, but the woman sounded young. Much younger than her body would suggest; around Jean’s age. And Jean figured that gave her the advantage.

“Says the woman all in red,” Jean shot back, careful to keep any fear or anger out of her voice. She was desperately trying to remember everything her parents had taught her about resolving conflicts peacefully. She’d had no success at in the past, but maybe this was different. Certainly, this woman seemed nothing like the bullies that had plagued Jean throughout her school years.

“Um,” Jean started. “Scarlet, can I call you Scarlet?”

“Scarlet? I like that,” the other woman said softly. “Yes, you can call me Scarlet. I’m the Scarlet Witch, after all. And what may I call you?”

“If you’re the Scarlet Witch, then I’m… Marvel Girl,” Jean answered, and turned as red Scarlet’s cloak. Marvel Girl? She couldn’t come up with a better superhero name than that?

Scarlet laughed. “Marvel Girl, huh?” she said, a teasing smirk on her face. Jean laughed with her, breathing mental sigh of relief. If Jean could get her opposite number to laugh, maybe she could start a dialogue. It worked in those silly cop shows her dad liked to watch.

“Okay Marvel Girl, what are you doing out here? Do you work for the military?” Scarlet asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“No,” Jean answered, shaking her head for emphasis. “Me and my friends just don’t think that a bunch of mutants running amok inside a military compound is such a good idea. We just want you to leave before anyone gets hurt that’s all. Please. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

Scarlet frowned. “Do you have any idea what these people are doing here? Do you?”

“Well, this is the military,” Jean hedged. “So I’m going to guess that it has something to do with military type stuff?”

“Funny,” Scarlet said. “They’re experimenting on us. On mutants. This is a weapons development base. And what do you think they’re developing weapons to use on?”

“Us,” Jean breathed. And then she shook her head. “No, I don’t believe you. We have a telepath on our team; he would have picked up anything from the base commander if they were trying something like that.”

“There are ways to block telepaths, Marvel Girl,” Scarlet said sadly. “My… our benefactor has developed some techniques in that area. How much you want to bet the military has come up with some similar? Besides, the base commander may not know. Militaries are pretty compartmentalized, and this may not be the final testing site. He could easily supply data or something for someone further down the road.”

“Well, that’s not _quite_ what you said at first,” Jean said. Then her eyes narrowed in revelation. “But that’s what Pietro is doing inside the base, isn’t it? He’s looking for records about what the military is really doing and where. You’re looking for your next target!”

“So you overheard Pietro’s name,” Scarlet said, again a little sadly. “He likes to be called ‘Quicksilver.’”

“Of course, he does,” Jean said with a roll of her eyes. And then stopped and said: “Of course, given that we call ourselves ‘Scarlet Witch’ and ‘Marvel Girl,' maybe I shouldn’t be judging him.”

“Definitely not,” Scarlet agreed. There was an awkward silence for a minute before Jean broke it, saying:

“Listen, Scarlet. I get what you mean. And maybe you’re right. Maybe the military really is up to something. But this isn’t the way to stop them! Breaking into a military base, stealing classified files, wrecking military vehicles? All that will do is convince them they need those weapons even more.”

“We have to be able to defend ourselves,” Scarlet snapped. But Jean heard the uncertainty in her voice. These were somebody else’s words, not hers. “We have to know what they’re doing so we can be prepared when they unleash whatever new horror they’ve managed to come up with!”

“We need to stop them,” Jean replied firmly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “And we need to do it right.”

“By making ourselves sitting targets?” Scarlet demanded incredulously.

“By refusing to sink to their level,” Jean said firmly. “This is America; we have laws against this sort of thing. Ways we can make change peacefully, instead of violently.”

“America,” Scarlet sneered. “The land of freedom. Of brotherhood. Bullshit. This country is as corrupt and as violent as every other. You have the wrong last name or skin tone, and you find out just how ‘free’ America really is.”

“We’re a screwed up country,” Jean admitted. “But the laws _are_ there, Scarlet. And however mean and thuggish the people of this country are, they are some things they just won’t tolerate.”

“You really are naïve,” Scarlet said, but her tone lacked conviction and inwardly Jean exalted. Maybe she hadn’t convinced the other woman to see things her way, but Jean was sure now that she could convince the Scarlet Witch to leave with no more damage being done. Just then, a massive explosion ripped across the base.

“What the hell was that?” Jean asked, her ears ringing from the explosion.

“My team,” Scarlet answered, turning to survey the damage from the blast. She didn’t sound like she like her team very much. But Jean couldn’t be sure, her ears were ringing so bad. She thought the explosion had destroyed an eardrum or two. Just then, the base alarms blared. Both she and Scarlet turned to look at the base in fear.

“You need to go,” Jean said to the other woman.

“What?” Scarlet asked.

“You need to go,” Jean insisted. “Gather your team and get the hell out of here.”

“You’re going to let me go?” Scarlet asked incredulously.

“If the military catches you, they’ll kill you,” Jean said flatly. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m personally done with violence for the day. Get your team and get out.”

“What about you?” Scarlet asked, clearly torn between wanting to do as Jean asked and wanting to make sure Jean was safe.

“I’ll be okay,” Jean assured her. “But not if you stick around! Get moving, so I can get out of here, too.”

“Right,” Scarlet said and bolted down towards where the explosion had come from. Jean waited for a second and then made her way opposite the Scarlet Witch’s. She only hoped that nobody was injured.

***

While Jean was busy trying to convince the Scarlet Witch to give up the ghost, Hank McCoy faced a significantly larger problem. And by that we mean that Hank was now confronted with a giant of a human being; a living, breathing, walking mound of fat that was standing just outside the base’s fenced off power generator, scowling and chewing on a cigar that was almost as fat as the man’s fingers.

Hank himself was on the opposite side of the fenced off area, nearer to the base. He was crouched down behind some discarded barrels that reeked of motor oil and gasoline, observing his surroundings. The generator was significantly larger than Hank would have expected for a base this size, and the area that the fence surrounded was scaled suitably. Between the fence and the generator was a field of concrete, nothing growing in it. From the top of the generator, there stretched wires connecting to every building in the base. If the power generator blew, the base would be crippled, but Hank couldn’t see how the large man intended to do that. The man was dressed in a blue leotard that showed off more of him than anybody really wanted to see, but there was no place for any tools or explosives. Perhaps he had placed them in the bushes beside him? But why go with a leotard at all? Surely this man didn’t think his fat would be enough to protect him from the resulting explosion? But then again, he was almost certainly a mutant. Perhaps that was his gift, the ability to turn his fat into some kind armour, or perhaps absorb any damage through the fat?

Hank hunkered further down behind the barrels, cupping his chin in thought. But as Hank was thinking his way around the problem, a pair of privates rounded the corner down into the power generator area. Hank hunkered further down behind the barrels and listened to their conversation. It was nonsense mostly, chatting about girlfriends and weekend leave. Right until the privates noticed the giant at the other end of the power generator.

“What the hell is that?” one private demanded, unslinging his rifle.

“It’s a hairless gorilla,” the other private answered, similarly unslinging her rifle. Hank suppressed an annoyed grunt at the analogy. “The better question is, how did it get in here?”

And that, Hank admitted to himself, was the question. Somebody that large should have been noticed long before now. Bobby’s illusionist perhaps?

“Sir!” the first private shouted at the walking mountain. “Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to come out here with your hands on your head.” He and the second private were aiming the rifles at the bipedal walrus. He merely sneered at the privates. And then, Hank’s sensitive ears picked up the telltale sound of a call coming faintly from the big galoot’s direction. Hank watched the man lift a finger to his ear and listened intently for a minute or two and then smashed through the fence. The privates opened fire. Most of the bullets hit the barbed wire fence, but several of the bullets hit the man who simply shrugged them off. Hank cursed silently to himself. That he could deflect bullets did not mean that he could survive an explosion from the power generator, of course. But the fact that he survived a hail of bullets and smashing through a barbed wire fence without so much as a scratch did not bode well. Hank gripped the tops of the barrels he was hiding behind, preparing now to launch himself towards the soldiers to save them from the now seemingly inevitable explosion. The soldiers themselves went through every last round of ammo they had had; first through the magazines already in their guns, and then through every replacement mag on their belts. Nothing seemed to work; the blob kept marching on until he hit the power generator. Once there, he pounded on the generator, hammering it again and again. The soldiers, now out of bullets, screamed on the radio for reinforcements. Too late. The blob hit something critical and a giant fireball exploded from out of the generator. Hank moved with all the speed and power he could muster. He launched himself over the barrels and tackled the two privates, knocking them down. Hank then lifted each private under his arms and then ran as fast as he could out of the explosion’s radius to deposit the privates safely behind a building a fair distance away from the blast. Hank had cut his actions a little too close; his clothes were singed from the expanding heat wave and his ear drums had burst from the pressure wave. The soldiers were also bloody from the explosion. But there was nothing more Hank could do for them; so he deposited them behind the building and hustled back towards the blast.

He didn’t know what, exactly, he hoped to accomplish. But he knew he had to try.

***

 _I got you, Bobby,_ Warren though at the younger student. He was resting on top of one of the military buildings observing the mostly empty field where a hidden car was flickering in and out of a bush. Bobby was a little to the right of the car, hiding behind a clump of bushes of his own. Warren, for his part, and had ditched his harness and shirt in a pile behind him on the rooftop. Warren studied the car. It was a van, actually, and Warren was willing to bet that the whole thing had been heavily modified with better suspension and a vastly superior engine despite the old and battered paint job. Suddenly, the van started up.

 _Bobby?_ Warren asked.

 _I see it_ , Bobby said. From his position behind the bushes, Bobby shot out short bursts of ice, freezing the area behind the wheels. Warren flapped his wings when suddenly, there was a great big explosion from Warren’s left.

 _The fuck?_ Bobby asked.

 _I don’t know,_ Warren asked. _Scott?_

 _It wasn’t me_ , Scott answered. He sounded a little dazed. _Jean?_

 _It wasn’t the girl,_ Jean answered firmly. _I was talking with her the whole time. I think maybe I know why these guys are here._

 _You talked with her?_ Scott asked, his mental voice incredulous. _Jean, she’s dangerous…_

 _I know that, Scott,_ Jean snapped. _But I learned something from her, and from the sounds of it, she isn’t the only one who’s dangerous._

 _Can we focus, please?_ Warren demanded. _What the hell was that explosion?_

 _I’m afraid it came from the gentleman I was tailing,_ Hank said apologetically. _He smashed his way into the power generator and destroyed it. I couldn’t stop him; I’m sorry._

 _It’s not your fault, Hank,_ Scott assured him. _Do you know if your guy survived?_

 _That’s what I’m trying to determine,_ Hank answered grimly. _There does not appear to be a body and given that he was at the centre of the explosion that isn’t very surprising. On the other hand, the two privates that were also here emptied their entire supply of ammunition on the man and failed to injure him in any way, so it’s entirely possible that he did, in fact, survive. I just don’t know, Scott._

 _Okay,_ Scott thought. _Okay. Don’t worry about it too much, Hank. If he survived, he’s probably too tough for you to take on and if he didn’t, there’s nothing we can do about it, anyway._

 _Cold,_ Hank replied. _But probably accurate._

 _Jean, where are you?_ Scott asked.

 _I’m heading down to where Bobby and Hank are from the side of the base opposite the power generator,_ Jean answered. _And we need to talk about how you know these people, Scott._

 _I only know three of them,_ Scott answered. _Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch, and their dad. I have no idea who El blobbo is, or who’s doing the illusions._

 _That’s still three more than the rest of us, Scott,_ Warren noted. Three figures converged on the van. _Hold on a second. It looks our three other players arrived. There’s the girl and does she wear any other colour than red? And there’s the Blob and a guy in a green and silver body suit with platinum hair who’s banging on the door like a woodpecker. They just got in._

 _Don’t worry about it,_ Bobby said confidently. _They won’t be getting out of here anytime soon. Uh-oh._

 _What’s ‘uh-oh’?_ Scott demanded.

 _The soldiers just showed up,_ Warren answered grimly. _Probably all the troops in the base, from the looks of it._

 _That explains why I haven’t seen any soldiers_ , Scott thought.

 _Same here,_ Jean affirmed.

 _I ran into a couple of soldiers and directed them to the soldiers I saved,_ Hank thought. _But the majority do seem to heading in the direction of Bobby and Warren._

 _Yeah, they’re here,_ Bobby said grimly. _They’ve surrounded the van. While they’re busy, I’m going to slip out and rejoin the professor._

 _Good idea_ , Scott said. _I’m almost there._

 _Same here,_ Jean answered.

 _That makes three of us,_ Hank said.

 _Right,_ Warren said. _I’m going to do the same thing._

***

Warren had just pulled his vest back on and had walked up behind the professor when he noticed the van had long since disappeared. Warren cursed silently and saw that Bobby was looking grim and downcast. The soldiers weren’t looking much better.

“What the hell was that?” Colonel Rothstein demanded. Nobody seemed interested in giving him an answer, so he just spat on the ground.

“Maybe we got hit by that guy from Metropolis?” Lt.-Colonel Hernandez wondered aloud. She didn’t sound like she meant it. “He’s got super speed, super strength and heat vision, right?”

“I doubt it, Colonel,” one of the other officers said. “Soldiers and Xavier’s students both claim there were at least three people.”

“Point,” Hernandez conceded.

“And that’s another question,” Rothstein said, turning angrily to the wheel chaired professor. “What the hell were your students doing getting in the way of people like this?”

Scott, with an angry bruise spreading all over the side of his face, said nothing. The professor simply smiled at the Colonel.

“It wasn’t as if they chose to interfere, Colonel,” Xavier said pleasantly. “Scott was ambushed, and Hank just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Colonel Rothstein glared at the professor for a few seconds more then turned to Hank who was still a little singed from the explosion and said: “Thank you, Mr. McCoy.”

“It was my pleasure, sir,” Hank said, nodding his head at the colonel. The Colonel turned back to look at the empty field, with deep ruts from where the van’s tires and ripped up the grass to get out from Bobby’s ice slick.

“Who the fuck were these people?” the colonel asked. “What were they trying to do? Was it just about the power generator?”

“I…” Hernandez began. Just then, a private came running out of the base.

“Colonel! Colonel!” the private shouted as he ran up to the crowd. He stopped once he got there, bent double and breathing hard. The private recovered quickly, however, and said:

“Colonel, I was in the Records Room. The backup one. It’s been cleaned out.”

The colonel stared at the young private in horror. Hernandez said:

“Well, that answers that question.”

“No shit,” Rothstein said. “Charles, I’m sorry, but I think you and your students need to go.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Colonel,” Charles agreed. “I’ll leave the clean up to you. Scott?” With that, Scott wheeled the professor back towards the car. The rest of his students followed.

***

“Are you sure, Jean?” Professor Xavier said two hours later. They were in the professor’s private study. Xavier himself was seated behind his heavy oak desk that sat along the west wall while the other students were arrayed in various chairs and couches in front of him. Shelves filled with books on a seemingly infinite variety of subjects filled the shelves.

“Yes sir,” Jean said. She was seated in the chair directly in front of Xavier. She had ditched her coat downstairs and was back in her blue summer dress. “The Scarlet Witch told me that the military was experimenting on mutants.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Bobby said from the couch along the north wall where he was spread out.

“Well…” Xavier began, but Scott interrupted him from his position standing at the south wall, staring at nothing.

“She is,” he said flatly. Xavier and the students turned to look at him in surprise. “Look, Wanda and Pietro are pains in the ass. No question. And their dad is worse. But we know that the military has already experimented on superhumans. Captain America, anyone? The only problem is that the way Magneto does things, he won’t stop the army from experimenting on mutants. He’ll just encourage them to do it more so they have a big enough gun to stop him.”

“I’m afraid Scott’s right,” the professor sighed. “Both about the experiments and about the military’s reaction to Magneto.”

“Who is Magneto?” Jean asked and was surprised by the dark looks Xavier and Scott gave her.

“Erik Magnus Lehnsherr,” the professor began sadly, “was just nine years old when the Nazis invaded his homeland of Poland.”

“Merciful God,” Jean said, shocked.

“Indeed,” Xavier said. “I’ll spare you the details because you can clearly imagine them for yourself. Surprisingly enough, the attempted genocide of his people and the complete annihilation of his family weren’t enough to sour Erik against humanity, just yet. Though he spent the next twenty years or so hunting down and killing every Nazi he could find.”

“Can’t blame him,” Jean muttered darkly. The Grey clan had once been as large as the two branches of the Roosevelt family put together. They had unanimously served in that war on the front lines, albeit gendered as those things were at the time. By the end of the war, there was one and only one survivor of the family. As far as Jean was concerned, anybody who hunted Nazis deserved the Medal of Honor.

“No,” Xavier agreed, his face tight with some personal pain. “No, I can’t blame him for that, either. At any rate, I first met Erik in 1965, just after I had got my first doctorate.”

“Wait, 1965? How old are you, Professor?” Jean asked, sidetracked for just a second.

“I was born in 1932,” the professor said, smiling gently. “Another advantage of being a mutant, Jean. We age much slower and heal much faster than normal human beings.”

“Awesome,” Jean said. “But you were saying about Magneto?”

“Erik was a deeply troubled man by 1965,” the professor continued. “He had lived in Israel for a time shortly after it was founded, but the growing conflict between the newly established state and its Arabic neighbours simply disillusioned him further. He left in fifty-five, I believe, to continue his pursuit of Nazis’. Eventually, he came to New York. Ostensibly to pursue an education but at that point I think he was looking for a bar where he could drown himself. As I was doing the same thing to cope with the stress of getting my doctorate, we met in some long demolished bar in Brooklyn. We got drunk, well and truly plastered, and became fast friends. For the next several decades, we would be nigh-inseparable. Indeed, the only time we were apart was when Erik would go off on one of his retreats to deal with his demons. He never could, not really. Erik and I differed on what to do about mutants and human bigotry. Erik believed humanity would never accept us that the only course was violence. I differed. I thought peaceful cooperation was the key, and Erik and I argued often. All that changed when, in the late part of 1998, he met and fell in love with a woman named Magda Maximoff. Nine months later, Magda gave birth to twins: Pietro and Wanda.”

“I’m not going to like what happened to Magda, am I?” Jean said, a cold rage seeping into her bones.

“I’m afraid not,” Xavier said, an echo of Jean’s anger on his face, mixed with sorrow. “Magda was a mutant herself; the first real confirmation that there were others besides Erik and me. Her gift was healing, for which she was naturally mistrusted and feared. Particularly by the local intelligentsia. That she was a Romani as well did nothing to help her situation. Erik left her for a short time; presumably to do nothing more terrifying than grab a yogurt. The doctors at the hospital she was working at grabbed her and chemically executed her. They were about to do the same thing to the twins when Magneto returned and… expressed his displeasure.”

“Good,” Jean said savagely. The boys all nodded their agreement, murderous rages etched on their faces. Xavier shook his head sadly.

“We do not pursue vengeance, Jean,” he murmured. “That way only brings greater pain and misery. Erik, after having wreaked his terrible vengeance on those who had attempted to kill his family once more, returned to New York with the twins. We raised them together for a while, but it wasn’t easy. The death of Magda was a terrible blow to Erik, and the attempted murder of his children was almost worse. For nearly sixty years Erik had held his demons in check; now they spilled over into his everyday life. Humanity was the enemy, he believed, as great and terrible a danger to us as they were to themselves. Erik and I argued bitterly, and I am ashamed to say that we often did it in front of Pietro and Wanda.”

“A few years into this cozy domestic scene,” Scott said, turning away from the emptiness in space he had been staring into, “the professor found me at an orphanage that would have made the one in _Oliver Twist_ look like Disneyland. I moved in with the professor, Magneto, and the Maximoff twins and I sure didn’t make anything better.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Scott,” Xavier said sadly. “It was I and Erik who made the children pick sides. Wanda and Pietro naturally chose their father. Scott stood up for me. But it was a rough few years.”

“And then Magneto packed up Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch and disappeared,” Scott said savagely. “We never knew where, but before he left, he swore that he’d have revenge on humanity and make sure nobody was ever prejudiced against again. By any means necessary.”

“Erik is driven by his guilt and his rage,” Xavier said sadly. “He will not rest until he has what he wants. And he will kill anyone who gets in his way.”

“I can’t say I’m going to weep for the people who murdered Magda,” Jean said. That cold rage that had seeped into her bones earlier had turned red-hot. So hot, in fact, that flames seemed to be literally dancing in her eyes. “And Hell will freeze over before I weep for a Nazi. But I don’t like somebody like Magneto with all those military files, either.”

“No,” the professor agreed. He shared a look with Scott that others couldn’t decipher.

“We have to do it,” Scott said reluctantly.

“Have to do what?” Warren said from the chair beside Jean. “I’ve heard this story before, and it doesn’t get any better. But there’s damned all we can do about, Scott.”

“That’s not true, Warren,” Scott said quietly.

“What’s not true?” Warren asked, incredulously.

“Yeah, I’m with Warren. You’re not making any sense, Scott,” Bobby said, leaning up from the couch.

“Indeed,” Hank said from the other chair beside Jean. “Are you perhaps suffering from a cranial injury?”

“When Erik and I were together, we often discussed ways to protect our fellow mutants,” Xavier said. “We had, the both of us, battle oppression and violence. We knew that eventually, a school would not be enough. We would have to organize, truly organize. One idea we came up with was the X-Men: an elite paramilitary force that could handle situations were peaceful protest was no longer possible. Such as a government-sponsored pogrom. To that end, Erik and I created an armoury in the school grounds. We could never get the idea off the ground, but the armoury is still there. Along with an SR-71 Blackbird that Erik acquired somehow.”

They all looked at him, stunned.

“He’s lost it!” Bobby exclaimed, flopping back down on the couch. “Best check him, Hank. Make sure his head isn’t laying any eggs.”

“Wanda, Pietro and I were supposed to be the first members of the team,” Scott said. “Before Magneto bolted. He wanted to make the X-Men into an army, something that could hurt the humans before they hurt us.”

“Whereas I saw the X-Men as more of a police force,” Xavier agreed. “Something that could protect both mutants from humanity… and humanity from mutants.”

 “That could work,” Jean said excitedly.  The others turned to look at her in surprise. “We know Magneto isn’t going to stop anytime soon. And we know that whenever he makes as big an explosion as we think he’s going to make, humanity’s going to react with an even bigger one. We could calm things down, help save lives before it gets any worse!”

“Our powers do have peaceful applications,” Hank mused. “And Magneto has clearly created his own version of the X-Men.”

“You’ve all lost it,” Warren said, his head turning from each of three. “We’d be gunned down before we ever got out of the plane!”

“C’mon, there’s been crime-fighters before,” Bobby put in. “There’s that bat guy in Gotham, and whatever the hell’s going on in Metropolis. And there was the Sandman, Wildcat…”

“All of whom are either dead or in prison,” Warren snapped. “Wildcat’s facing a permanent life sentence for what he did. If they catch us, they’ll do worse.”

“They’ll do that even if we don’t fight,” Scott said. “That’s Magneto’s point, and he’s right. But if we do fight his way, then all we get is a lot of people dead along with us. We need to do this smart. No killing, no harming people if we can help it. But we’ve got to fight.”

“I’m in,” Jean said fiercely.

“Count me in as well,” Hank said with a nod.

“And baby makes three,” Bobby said from the couch.

“You guys are all out of your minds,” Warren said with a shake of his head. “But all right, count me in. I can’t very well let you guys out into the wild blue yonder all by yourselves. You’d get hurt without me.”

“I think,” the professor said slowly, “that we have the beginnings of a team. We can’t let Magneto dictate the terms of our relationship with humanity, nor can we allow humanity to ride roughshod over us. I believe that it is time we put the X-Men into action. First, we will need uniforms so that humanity cannot simply execute us out of hand. And we must step up your training! You cannot go into battle as unprepared as you were today. Especially not if Erik takes to the field. His decades of combat experience would leave you at a disadvantage even at the best of times. He would destroy you as you are now.”

“So, are we really going to do this?” Warren asked. “Are we really going to become X-Men?”

Scott smiled. It was the first time Jean had ever seen such a relaxed expression on his face and she decided she like it. Liked it a lot, in fact.

“Yeah, Warren,” Scott said. “We’re going to be X-Men.”

END CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:  
> Woohoo! The X-Men’s first brush with the infamous Brotherhood of Mutants! Here, Chuck lays out his history with the Master of Magnetism and his reasons for creating the X-Men! Of course, anybody who’s familiar with X-Men lore knows that Chuck isn’t telling the whole truth! And for readers of the previous chapter, you will notice some key differences in this one. Chuck is much more in favour of the X-Men this time around (in keeping with Claremont canon) and I re-worked a paragraph in the scene with Jean and Wanda. The original had Jean get angry at Wanda for laughing at her codename. It didn’t work with the scene or with Jean’s character so I changed it to the version you see above. Stay tuned, true believers, for more exciting adventures with Marvel’s merry mutants! Oh, and for anyone who didn’t get the message: yes, Erik and Charles were in a homosexual relationship. Yes, on occasion one or both had affairs and wouldn’t really get together until after Magda’s death. No, that wasn’t an issue between them. And yes, they still do love each other very much.  
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby.  
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	5. Children of the Atom, Part 5

The Uncanny X-Men, Chapter 5: The Children of the Atom, Part 5

“Mutie freak!” the man shouted. He was of average height and overweight, dressed in a brown coat over a brown suit and pants. Brown hair was plastered to his round head. In his right arm was a baseball bat.

Jean Grey stared back at him, breathing hard. Jean was a sixteen-year-old redhead with pale skin and emerald green eyes. She was of average height with an athletic build from years of track and volleyball. Today she was wearing a body suit made of Kevlar. The legs, arms and mask of the suit were a dark blue. The feet, hands and body of the suit were yellow. Her left arm was raised in a defensive position, a pink aura surrounding it. She was testing a new technique, a telekinetic shield designed to block blows.

For Jean was a mutant, born with an activated X-Gene. Her power was telekinesis, a power that had proved destructive in the past. After destroying much of her previous school, Jean had been sent to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Under Professor Charles Xavier, the school’s founder, Jean was learning to use her powers safely and responsibly.

A chance encounter with Xavier’s wayward adopted children, the Maximoff twins, and their new group The Brotherhood of Mutants had forced the students of Xavier to form their own group dedicated to protecting mutant and human alike. They had been become the X-Men.

And now, they were facing down an anti-mutant mob, one they had to clear without causing any casualties to the humans. A task that was proving trickier than Jean had expected.

The man who had accosted her swung the baseball bat down onto Jean’s shield. Jean screamed in pain. Her knees buckled, sending her to the floor. Her assailant kept coming on, battering her down. Finally, Jean had enough. Her eyes glowed red for a brief second. Her assailant flew backwards into the mob, bowling over his compatriots.

Jean pulled herself to her feet, shaking. Sweat darkened her hair and dripped down her face like a waterfall. 

“Are you okay, Jean?” Scott called from where he stood in the middle of the X-Men’s ranks. Scott Summers was the X-Men’s field commander, Xavier’s oldest student and adopted son, and another mutant. His power was to generate destructive blasts from his eyes. Unfortunately, childhood brain damage from the accident that killed his family had left him unable to control his optic blasts. Thus, Scott was forced to wear either sunglasses or a visor with lenses of ruby-quartz. Aside from the visor, his costume was the same as Jean’s. He was of average height with a lean build.

“I'm okay, Scott,” Jean grunted. Scott didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. Warren shouted:

“This isn’t working, Scott!” Warren Worthington III was the second of Xavier’s students. The heir to the Worthington fortune back in Boston, Warren had been born with white feathery wings and angelic beauty. His body was an inverted triangle with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. Warren wore the same outfit as Jean and Scott, but with cut-outs for his wings. He flew above the team, staying aloft with steady beating of his wings.

“No, you think?” Scott snapped back. “Bobby! Give us some cover!”

Robert “Bobby” Drake, the youngest of the X-Men flexed his arms as he settled into a ready pose. Bobby’s power was that the ability to create ice and snow, including turning himself into a snowman. Normally, Bobby was an average sixteen-year-old boy with brown eyes and brown hair he dyed every so often. Usually in some kind of icy colour like blue or white. Today, the only thing breaking up his snow form was a pair of blue trunks. Ice fired out from Bobby’s hands, creating a large ice wall between the X-Men and the mob.

“That won’t hold them forever, Scott,” Bobby warned.

“I know,” Scott said. “Huddle up! We need to change our tactics a bit.”

The X-Men converged on Scott. “We’re in trouble,” Warren observed.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Scott snapped. “If anybody has anything intelligent to add, I’m all ears.”

Warren bristled at Scott’s comments, but Bobby beat him to responding.

“Hey, Jean, maybe you could…?” he started. Both Jean and Scott stopped him.

“No,” they said.

“Wow,” Bobby said. “They’ve started speaking in unison. Nervous, Warren?” he added, throwing a cheeky glance at the older student. Warren snapped:

“Shut up, Bobby!”

“The goal is to defuse this crowd without hurting them if we can,” Scott said. “Jean cutting loose qualifies as ‘hurting,’ maybe even killing. Uh, no offense Jean,” he added hastily.

“None taken,” Jean said, giving him a wan smile. Jean’s powers were finicky and hard to control. Though she improved in the last two months and could now reliably move something the size of a human being, she couldn’t do so for very long or very far. Or accurately. But sometimes… sometimes Jean exploded. That was the only way she could describe what happened. It was if a telekinetic bomb went off, destroying everything in her path. That kind of power frightened Jean. It frightened her a lot, in fact. She turned to Bobby.

“Scott’s right,” Jean said. “Besides, I don’t even know how to trigger my… explosions.”

“That is fair, my dear,” Henry “Hank” McCoy said. Hank was a little older than Bobby, and the third student to have made it to Xavier’s school. His mutation was less outwardly impressive than his fellows though Jean envied the control he had over it. Hank had gained super strength and agility through his mutation. He was the largest of the X-Men by far, with massive shoulders, a stout waist and tree-trunk like legs. His feet had become a second pair of hands. His face was large and brutish, with a small nose far above his lips and deep set eyes. He wore the same costume as Jean and Scott, minus the gloves. “However, that still leaves us in quite the predicament. We have to change our tactics and soon, Scott! Robert’s glacier will not avail us for long.”

“I know,” Scott said. He cupped his hand to his chin, thinking hard. Then he said:

“Warren, I saw a big coil of rope over the right side of the mob. Did you?”

“Yeah,” Warren answered. “I saw it too. What, you think one of us can grab the rope and then tie them up?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Scott answered. “Bobby and I will cover you. You go grab the rope. If you can get out of the mob and tie them up by yourself, great. If not, toss the rope to Jean. She’ll grab it and send one end over to Hank.”

“And then Hank and I will tie up the mob?” Jean said, arching an eyebrow.

“That’s the idea,” Scott said.

“It’s risky, Scott,” Jean said. “My fine control over my powers still isn’t great.”

“I have faith in you, Jean,” Warren said. “You’ll be fine.

“So do I,” Scott said. “Have faith in you, I mean.”  He looked around at the team. “Everybody understand what they need to do? Good,” he said at the nods. “Get ready. On my count, Bobby.”

The X-Men broke the huddle. Bobby took up a position behind the wall, Scott beside him. Warren hovered above them. Jean took the right flank while Hank covered the left. At Scott’s nod, Bobby shattered the ice wall, flooding the mob. The freezing assault did not stop them for long. They kept climbing over their frozen comrades, ignoring even Scott’s warning shots. It was enough for Warren, though, and he flew over to where the coil of rope was. As soon as Warren touched down, some of the mob broke off and grabbed the X-Man. Unable to get loose, Warren heaved the rope over his head towards Jean and said:

 “Jean, catch!”

Jean reached out with her mind, pushing her still-limited telekinetic power to its limit. Though Jean had been practicing hard for the past two months, she had also just started Xavier’s school for mutants at that time. Those two months represented the total time she had spent practicing her powers, period. Grabbing the fast moving rope with her mind was still hard, and it nearly slipped through her grasp twice. But she caught it. Jean uncoiled the rope as quickly as she could and shot one end over to Hank. She missed and smacked Hank in the face, but Hank recovered quickly. Grabbing one end of the rope he raced around the mob while Jean arced her end to meet Hank in the back of the mob. Once Hank was there, he quickly tied the two ends of the rope together. Warren, unfortunately, was still being dog piled by his group. Jean reached out with her mind and pulled off several of Warren’s assailants. Hank rushed to join her. Soon, Warren was free.

“Well done,”  Professor Charles Xavier said as the lights came back on, revealing that the X-Men had been in the Danger Room the whole time. The Danger Room was the school’s gymnasium, designed to test a mutants power and learn to control them in a hostile world.

He was a bald man in a wheelchair, wearing a green suit with a white shirt and brown tie today. He had pointed ears and thin, permanently arched eyebrows. His skin was lightly bronzed. “Four out of five, I’d say, though there is clearly much to improve on.”

“No kidding,” Scott muttered. He looked down at the erstwhile mob. Now that the simulation was finished, the mob was revealed to be a collection of Wayne Enterprises’ Autonomous Training Dummies. The training dummies, a sort of very primitive robot designed by Wayne Enterprises in conjunction with famed roboticist Karl Rossum, had initially been created to help people with injuries in physiotherapy. After some pressure, Bruce Wayne, Wayne Enterprises eccentric, billionaire-playboy-pacifist president had consented to create some dummies for martial artists. Professor Xavier had managed to get a hold of some of the dummies and Hank had tinkered with them to make the dummies able to mimic any threat the X-Men might face.

“That was brutal,” Jean said as she sank to her knees. She was breathing hard, and the Kevlar suit stuck to her body like paint thanks to the sweat. “I think my arm’s broken,” she added, staring at her left arm. Gingerly she poked it. It was numb.

“Let me see,” Warren said. He moved towards her and lifted up her sleeve. He poked and prodded at the left arm for a minute. Jean tried hard not to blush. Warren was gorgeous, with his shaggy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. Not to mention his obscenely good-looking abs. And his touch felt really good.

“No, it’s not broken,” Warren said after a minute. “But it will be sore for a while. You’ll want to put some ice on it.” He flashed her a smile and Jean turned the colour of her hair.

“We suck,” Bobby said. He dropped his snow form to reveal the body of a hardened athlete. He walked over to where the big water jug was, the kind that people used for team sports and dunked his head in it.

“I am so glad we have other sources of hydration,” Hank said. Jean laughed. Water sounded great right about, but she was too tired to go up and get some.

“Robert, make sure you bring water for the other students,” Xavier called. Bobby gave the professor a thumbs up, without his head leaving the jug.

“We don’t suck,” Scott said. Warren laughed hard.

“Yeah, because that was such a stellar performance,” he sneered. “Face it, Scott, we got our asses kicked!”

“As much as I hate to agree, Warren has a point,” Hank said. “This exercise was particularly taxing, true, but our other exertions have not been inspiring efforts either.”

“We don’t suck,” Scott repeated. “I know we got hurt today and didn’t do as well as we all think we should have. And I know that the last two months have been hard. But we don’t suck. I think the real issue is that we’re trying something new. We’re not cops, and we’ve never trained to be cops before. And in Jean’s case, she’s learning how to use her powers, period, at the same time she’s learning how to use them in life-threatening situations.”

“So it’s my fault,” Jean snarled. She knew that wasn’t what Scott meant, but she was tired and sore and sweating like a stuck pig. She didn’t feel like being rational at the moment.

“That’s not what I meant!” Scott snapped back. Then he looked embarrassed, and Jean felt a thrill of vicious satisfaction. That wasn’t very nice of her either, but at the moment Jean didn’t especially care. It was just so good to see Scott’s reserve fade. “What I meant was that is that there’s a big learning curve, here. And it’s even greater for you, Jean,” he said in a marginally calmer tone. “That’s why we’re getting our ass kicked. There’s no manual, nothing we can go back on to help us out. But! Look at how much we’ve improved in just the last two months. When Jean started here, she could barely lift a baby! Now look at her. A telekinetic shield, lobbing that one guy back into the mob. And the way she grabbed that rope! And Bobby, if I had asked you to do that ice wall a month ago, it would have killed you. Right?”

“Right,” the other X-Men agreed. Jean felt a little ashamed of her anger earlier. It wasn’t Scott’s fault she’d almost failed to keep her grip on the rope, now was it?

“Right,” Scott agreed. “We still need to practice more, though.”

“Not today!” the rest of the X-Men cried in despair. Xavier chuckled.

“No, not today. You have all earned a rest.”

“A nap sounds great,” Jean said as Bobby handed her a water bottle. He passed around the rest to the other X-Men.

“It does,” Warren agreed. “But I got homework to do. Want to study together, Jean?” he asked. Jean blushed again.

“Thanks,” she said. “But I was serious about that nap. I’m dead. I’m going to go sleep for a couple of hours.”

“Cool,” Warren said, but Jean could see his disappointment. She blushed harder.

“I’m doing the same thing,” Bobby yawned. “Napping that is. And maybe a soak in the tub. After a joint or two. What about you, Hank?” Jean chewed on the inside of her lip. Xavier and his students all partook in marijuana, she knew. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Her parents had always told her that marijuana was dangerous. But none of the X-Men seemed to suffer from their use of the plant. Quite the opposite, in fact. So far, Jean had avoided their smoking sessions. Nobody had tried to force her to join, either. For that, she was grateful.

 “I believe I could indulge in a bowl,” Hank said. “But first I believe that we must settle on our code names. I would not prefer for the public to be able to determine that _we_ are the mysterious ‘X-Men.’”

“That’s right,” Scott agreed. “It’s been two months. Anybody want to go first?”

Jean hesitated. She did _not_ want to go out in public under the name ‘Marvel Girl’, but it was the only name she could think of. There was another, one that stayed on the tip of her tongue, but whenever she tried to think about it, her mind would skip over the name and a voice deep inside her would say ‘Not yet, my host.’ In the absence of a better name, Jean said:

“I’m Marvel Girl, I guess.”

The others looked at her strangely, and Jean blushed, but she held her ground.

“Fine, Jean’s ‘Marvel Girl,’” Bobby said, trying very hard not to smirk. “Then I guess I’m ‘Iceman.’

“Your infinite capacity for unoriginality never ceases to amaze, Robert,” Hank said. “But if you’re the Iceman, then I shall be called ‘Beast,’ as befits my great appearance.”

“And you call me ‘unoriginal,’” Bobby said.

“I guess that makes me ‘Angel,’” Warren said.

“Definitely,” Jean muttered. Warren asked: “What?”

“Nothing,” Jean said, flushing redder than a red giant. Hank snickered, and Jean suspected he heard her just fine. She stuck her tongue out at the larger mutant.

“Then I’m ‘Cyclops,’” Scott said. “Everybody satisfied?” The X-Men nodded. “Good,” Scott said. “Then…”

“Wait!” Jean said. The others turned to look at her. “The professor needs a codename, too,” she said.

“How about Professor X?” Bobby suggested.

“That will do just fine, Robert,” Xavier said. “That will do just fine indeed.”

***

Jean didn’t go for a nap right away. First she hit the showers to get that all the sweat off of her. As she cleaned herself off, Jean thought about the simulation. It had been hard work and it didn’t feel like the X-Men were getting any better at their self-chosen profession after two months of practice. But Jean refused to give up. She knew that the task the X-Men had set for themselves was monumental, but she also knew it was necessary. If the military really was experimenting on mutants, and if Magneto was dead-set on stopping them by any means possible, then the only hope for a peaceful solution were the X-Men. Jean could only hope that they were enough.

Finishing her shower, Jean dried herself off and wrapped herself up in the blue fluffy housecoat she had brought from home before dashing upstairs to her room.

***

Two hours later, Jean woke up refreshed from her nap and was now engrossed in her homework. Professor Xavier insisted that his school was an actual school and not merely a mutant training ground and so required his students to study. Though Jean was sure that her essay on women and their place in Ancient Egyptian religion was more advanced than anything her former classmates had to deal with.

Jean lay sprawled out on her bed, wearing only her bra and panties, surrounded by books as she worked out the rough draft of her essay longhand. There was a knock on her door.

“One second,” Jean said. She pulled herself up off the bed and hurriedly through her housecoat on. Jean pulled open the door. Standing on the other side was Scott.

He was dressed far more casually than Jean had ever seen him. Which wasn’t saying much. Scott wore a long-sleeved sweater over a V-necked tee and jeans. He had switched out the visor for his sunglasses.

“Um, hi,” Scott said. He ran his hand through his hair, embarrassed. He seemed to fix his gaze at a spot above Jean’s head. “Um. I was just wondering…”

Jean had a feeling that if she left Scott to his own devices, he’d never get what was on his mind out. “Wondering what, Scott?”

“Casablanca’s playing at the theatre in Salem Center,” Scott said. “And I was hoping—wondering! If you would like to come with me?”

Jean blinked at the older student in surprise. In the two months since Jean had arrived at Xavier’s, she had come to admire Scott. And not always in family friendly ways, either. But she had never thought the feeling mutual! Scott rarely hung out with the others and never spoke to her outside of the Danger Room. But maybe he was just shy?

“I’d like that,” Jean said. “But I’ve got homework…” she added, gesturing to the pile of books behind her.

“It’s not until tonight,” Scott said hurriedly. Jean looked up at him thoughtfully.

“Sure,” she said. The professor’s voice came alive in their minds.

 _To me, my X-Men,_ Xavier said. _We have something to discuss. Come meet me in my office._

***

The X-Men assembled in Xavier’s office. The professor sat behind his desk, a weird contraption on his head.

“Damn,” Bobby said, snapping his fingers. “I knew I forgot weird hat day!”

“Somehow Robert, I don’t believe that’s quite it,” Hank said.

“No, indeed,” Xavier replied, laughing.

“What is it, Professor?” Scott said.

“Yeah, you interrupted Scott’s brooding time,” Warren said, grinning. Scott glared at him.

“For your information, Warren,” Jean said, coming to Scott’s defence, “Scott was asking me out.”

Scott went red as Jean’s hair. Jean immediately felt guilty, fearing that was something she should not have revealed to her classmates. Their reactions did not help. Hank stood there in slack-jawed awe. Bobby pretended to faint. Warren stared at Jean in surprise, then shot a look at Scott that was pure jealousy.

“It’s a miracle,” Bobby said, fake sniffling. “Our little Scott, all grown!”

“Maybe I’m ace, Bobby, did you ever think of that?” Scott said. His tone was light, though, and Jean breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m ace, Scott. You’re repressed,” Hank said. “Though perhaps less repressed than we thought,” he added.

“Maybe he’s just Jean-sexual,” Bobby said. Jean glared at Bobby. Scott chucked his phone at Bobby who dodged laughing. Warren went over to pick the phone up and handed it back to Scott.

“Thanks, Warren,” Scott said as he accepted the phone.

“No problem,” Warren said. He still looked hurt, and Jean felt guilty. Desperate to change the subject, she said:

“What did you call us here for, professor? And what is that thing on your head?”

“This is Cerebro,” Xavier answered, taking off the contraption. “Another idea that Erik and I developed. It amplifies my telepathy, allowing me to detect other mutants.”

“Meaning you can track Magneto and his crew down,” Scott said.

“Or discover new students,” Hank mused.

“Unfortunately, my efforts to track Erik down have proven unsuccessful,” Xavier said. “The range on Cerebro is fairly short, for one thing. It is limited to New York State at present. Nor would I put it past Erik to develop techniques to block me if I tried to search for him.”

“Wanda did say something about blocking telepaths,” Jean confirmed.

“That figures,” Bobby said.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Warren added. “If Magneto helped the professor develop this ‘Cerebro’ and they split, then Magneto would know all about Cerebro.”

“And would expect the professor to use it to track him,” Scott agreed.

 “I want to go back to Hank’s comment about new students,” Xavier said.

Scott turned to the professor. “You’ve found a new student?” he asked.

“Not precisely,” Xavier hedged. “I’ve been reading reports about the various less famous super-powered people around the country. Some of them are simply normal humans in costumes, like this ‘Bat-Man’ character in Gotham. Others are simply too preposterous to believe. The ‘Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,’ for example. A real live demon, in New York City? Nonsense. However, others are far more intriguing. The mystery man in Metropolis, for instance. A speedster, perhaps?”

“I heard he welded an oil tanker back together with his eyes,” Bobby said warningly. “And that he threw around a tank like the big green guy does for fun. If he has all the powers people claim he does, then he would have to be the most powerful mutant ever.”

“Assuming it’s a he,” Jean put in. “Whoever this person is, they could be a she.”

“Could be,” Bobby agreed. “There was this one chick back in the Second World War, right? Wonder Woman, I think the name was? And she had most of the powers they’re claiming for this mystery person.”

“Yeah,” Jean said, excitement colouring her tone. She tried to tone it down a little, but she’d always been a Wonder Woman fangirl. “Wasn’t she, like, the princess of the lost Amazons or something?”

“That was the rumour,” Xavier agreed. “Though I personally cannot vouch for the truth of it.”

“Well, maybe she’s come back,” Jean pointed out.

“Perhaps,” Xavier said with a frown that suggested he didn’t quite believe it. Jean felt a little crushed. “Either way, it would be a good idea to investigate.”

“Are we going to Metropolis, then Professor?” Scott asked.

“Not as yet,” Xavier said. “First, I believe that there is a rumour closer to home that we should check out. Namely, the Amazing Spider-Man.”

“Oh yeah,” Bobby said. “That guy from Queens.”

Jean looked at him askance. “What makes you think he’s from Queens?” she asked.

“I caught one of his fights while I was in the city last time,” Bobby said. “He was using some gangster’s goons like they were some kind of crazy obstacle course and talking at a million miles a second. And trust me that Queens accent is kind of hard to mistake for anything else.”

“That is not much of a surprise,” Hank pointed out. “Spider-Man has only ever operated in New York City, and mostly in the Manhattan area. It would surprise me very greatly were he not a native New Yorker.”

“He could have been from Jersey,” Bobby pointed out.

“Bobby,” Jean said severely. “Nobody lives in Jersey!”

“While making fun of New Jersey is every New Yorker’s God-given right,” the professor said before Bobby could respond to Jean, “the point is that Spider-Man is only fifty miles away and is a possible mutant, one of many new possibilities that seem to be coming out the woodwork in the past few years. He is the easiest to investigate, and therefore he is where we should start.”

“Agreed,” Scott said.

“Sounds like fun,” Warren agreed. “I grew up in Boston; I haven’t been to New York very often. I would love to see the city.”

“Did you ever pahk the cah in Hahvad Yahd, ‘cuz that was a good ideer?” Bobby asked Warren. Warren shot him a look that would have impaled a tank, and Jean burst out laughing. The look Warren gave her was milder, but not by much.

“A visit to the city would do me good as well,” Hank said. “There are some things I have been meaning to research for my engineering paper.”

“Same here,” Jean said once she had recovered from her laughing fit. “Not for an engineering paper, obviously. But I do have research to do.”

“I’m in,” Bobby said. “It’d be good to meet a fellow New York superhero.”

“Then it’s decided,” Xavier said. “We shall head into the city tomorrow.”

***

Jean’s date with Scott had gone amazingly well. Casablanca was one of her favourite movies, and Scott was a good movie watching partner. They had arrived back at the mansion late last night and parted ways at Scott’s bedroom door. To Jean’s disappointment, Scott hadn’t even tried for a kiss. But at least the date went well over all.

Jean couldn’t afford to dwell on Scott too much, though: her paper was still due the next morning. Jean stayed up all night to get it done, and was little more than a zombie that next morning.

 “Trust me when I say this, Jean: coffee may make a psychic feel better, even more so than a normal human being, but it is also even unhealthier for us than it would be for a normal person.” Jean’s response was an incoherent grunt, and she continued to sip at the giant mug of coffee she held in hands. They were sitting around the table in Xavier’s kitchen, in the north-west part of the mansion, between the entrance and the dining room. Jean was sitting at the table in the middle of the kitchen, in biggest, bluest, fluffiest robe and big fuzzy blue slippers. It made her look like a little girl in need of a big hug, which was exactly what Jean felt like. Xavier, for his part, was in a grey suit with a white shirt and black tie. The light glistened off his bald head as he smiled indulgently at Jean. He looked down at the paper that Jean had given to him when she had shuffled into the kitchen that morning.

“You know, if you had not left this paper until the last minute, you would not be nearly so tired this morning,” Xavier said. Jean grunted again and took another sip of coffee. Xavier sighed, shook his head fondly and went to make himself a pot of coffee. Bobby wandered in and grabbed a bowl from the cupboards.

“Morning, Professor. Morning, Jean,” he said with a yawn as he rooted around in the cupboards for his favourite brand of chocolate covered sawdust.

“Good morning, Robert,” Xavier said. Jean grunted and took another sip of coffee.

“What’s with Jean?” Bobby asked, glancing at the woman. Jean took a big gulp of coffee.

“She engaged in that time honoured practice of students everywhere,” Xavier said. “An ‘all-nighter.’”

“Ah, those are always fun,” Bobby said with another yawn as he poured his cereal into the bowl. He then went to the fridge and grabbed a carton of milk, which he subsequently poured into the bowl. “Didn’t you once go three weeks without sleep to get a paper done, professor?”

“Indeed I did,” Xavier said. “At least, I think it was only once. It could very easily have been more.” Jean grunted and took another big sip of her coffee.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Bobby said as he made his way down to the table. “We need to hit Greenwich Village while we’re in the city, professor. I used the last of the weed last night.”

“That’s fine,” Xavier said. “We have no idea when or where Spider-Man will strike, so we will probably be in the city all day. I’m sure we can make it to Greenwich Village at some point.”

“Thanks, professor,” Bobby said as he sat down at the table.

“I still can’t believe you smoke weed, Bobby,” Jean croaked.

“Uh-huh,” Bobby said as he dug into the cereal. “Only in the professor’s smoke room, though. Everywhere else either stinks up the joint or is a fire hazard. Trust me, you do not want to know what it’s like to get weed stink out of nineteenth or eighteenth-century furniture.”

“But it’s weed,” Jean protested. Where her parents had largely been silent on the subject of human sexuality, they had been emphatic about drugs. Drugs were wrong. Drugs cause untold amounts of harm each year. People who used drugs were sad, pathetic creatures who couldn’t handle reality. What was a good kid like Bobby doing smoking that kind of trash?

“Healthier than tobacco,” Bobby pointed out. “Healthier than that coffee you’re drinking, too,” he added, pointing at Jean’s giant mug. Jean pulled the mug closer to her and said:

“Mine.”

“Bobby is absolutely right, Jean,” Xavier said. “Cannabis is quite healthy. Especially for psychics. Cannabis restores the mind after using our psychic powers and greatly reduces the stress of using them in the first place. The plant’s relaxing properties are also significantly enhanced for psychics. And the side effects for normal people are virtually non-existent for psychics. Compare that to caffeine, which is far more harmful to psychics than it is for normal people. On the other hand, if you are uncomfortable with the plant, there is no reason to partake. I certainly will not force it on you.”

Jean looked down at her giant coffee mug once more and took a giant gulp. She was feeling more awake again. “There’s cannabis in those balms we use after training exercises,” she said slowly.

“Most of them have cannabis oil these days,” Bobby agreed. “Ever since our beloved leader decriminalized marijuana. It’s way the hell better than the stuff we’ve been using for years, like Tiger Balm. And, on the plus side, cannabis oils don’t have enough to make you high on their own and can’t be absorbed through the skin, so it’s not like you can get high.”

“So what do they use in pot brownies, then?” Jean asked. The conversation, as much as the coffee, was waking her up. “A girl at school had one, and she was sick for a week. Like, sick to her stomach sick.”

“Yeah, brownies are made with cannabis oil,” Bobby said sceptically. “But I’ve never heard of somebody being sick for a week after eating one.”

“They almost certainly were not aware that what they were eating was a pot brownie,” Xavier said severely. “And likely, they experience was sufficiently unpleasant that they exaggerated the effects for a while afterward. Even for a psychic, unintentionally ingesting cannabis can have unpleasant side effects.”

“I can believe that,” Jean said sourly. “I remember eating a liqueur-filled chocolate one time, but I didn’t know it was liqueur-filled chocolate? And urgh was it gross. But I love Queen Anne Cherries.”

“Yeah, same thing, basically,” Bobby said as he took another big spoonful of cereal. “Pot’s pretty harmless on its own, but if you’re not expecting it or if you’re a first timer, it can hit you like a freight train.”

“Like coffee,” Jean said as she took one final big gulp of coffee from her mug and smacked her lips. She was feeling her old perky self again.

“Precisely,” Xavier said firmly. “That is why we must label all of our foods. It would be too easy to poison our students or our citizens. And that is unacceptable.”

“Agreed,” Scott Summers said as he walked in through the kitchen door. He was dressed in a khaki suit with a white shirt and black tie. He wore wing tips on his feet. Scott’s brown hair was parted neatly on his head. His ruby quartz sunglasses rested comfortably on his face. Jean felt a stab of annoyance. How was he so handsome and put together this early in the morning? Jean noticed a newspaper tucked under his arm.

“You always think the professor’s right, Scott,” Bobby pointed out. “And what’s with the getup? We’re not going to a job interview!”

“Some of us take pride in our appearance,” Scott said mildly as he poured himself a bowl of ultra-health food cereal. “Unlike certain unkempt barbarians I could name.”

“Unkempt barbarian? Are you taking vocabulary lessons from Hank?” Bobby asked.

“At least I have a vocabulary,” Scott shot back.

“Good morning Scott,” Jean said, in the sweetest, most venomous tone she could manage.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” Scott said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic. “Good morning. H-how are you?”

“I’m wonderful,” Jean said sarcastically. “How are you?”

“I-I’m good,” Scott answered. He sounded a little bewildered. He looked at Bobby questioningly. Bobby chuckled.

“Don’t mind Jean,” he said. “She’s just a little light on sleep and heavy on the coffee. Isn’t that right, Jeany-weany?” he asked Jean sweetly.

“Fuck off and die, Frosty,” Jean replied. Bobby laughed.

“Language, Jean,” Xavier said reprovingly. “And Bobby, don’t tease Jean. She’s had a long night.”

“Oh, were you working on your paper?” Scott asked. “I got that done that couple of weeks ago.” Jean scowled.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Not all of us are brown-nosing keeners, Scott. Some of us have lives.” Scott made as if he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and turned back to his cereal.  Just then, Warren Worthington III walked into the kitchen.

“Morning, all. Morning, Jean,” he said. He was all made up, just as Scott was: in a light blazer and pants with a cream coloured shirt and no tie. He wore loafers with no socks as usual. Jean scowled at him in response. What was wrong with these people that they were dressed to the nines before noon?

“Good morning, Warren,” Xavier said.

“Great, we got another guy dressed for Wall Street,” Bobby said. “It’s a good thing Hank, and I are tagging along with you guys; otherwise everybody will think we’re a bunch of prep school rejects.”

“The only reject here is you, Drake,” Warren said. He, too, grabbed a bowl of cereal and sat down beside Jean. Jean glared at him. Warren didn’t notice.

“So what’s on the agenda for today? Aside from looking for the web slinger?”

“That is essentially it, Warren,” Xavier said. “We’ll start in Greenwich Village, I should think, and then move about Manhattan. He is sure to show up at some point.”

At that point, Hank came in, and he and Bobby and Warren all started in on each other. Jean ignored them, and instead got herself some proper breakfast.

END CHAPTER

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> Holy crap, that took forever! This is easily the most extensive re-write of the lot, especially in that opening training scene. I wanted to evoke the classic Danger Room Cold Open and the original version didn’t do that well enough, in my opinion.
> 
> See you next time, true believers!
> 
> ***
> 
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby.
> 
> ***
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	6. Enter The Amazing Spider-Man!

The Uncanny X-Men, Chapter Six: Enter the Amazing Spider-Man!

The trip from Professor Xavier’s mansion in Salem Center, Westchester County took nearly an hour and a half. After breakfast, Xavier had managed to rally them all into getting ready. Jean had taken the longest: she needed to shower, brush her hair and generally make herself look beautiful. All things she would have normally done before breakfast but because she had stayed up all night getting that paper done, she hadn’t had the time. Because Jean’s prep work had taken so long, the X-Men plus Xavier hadn’t gotten out of the mansion until after nine o’clock that morning. After that, they had taken NY-116 W west past Turkey Road all the way to Hillside Home, where they turned left and then right and then left again until they got onto the I-684 S, which they followed south until they merged on to Hutchinson River Parkway South. From there they continued south until they reached the fork at Cross County Parkway, following the signs for George Washington Bridge. From there, they continued down Cross County Parkway until they reached the exit for New York City, where they merged on to Saw Mill River Parkway South until they hit the traffic loop where Saw Mill River became Henry Hudson Parkway. They then followed Henry Hudson Parkway down to NY-9A South until they reached the left-hand turn on to West 18th Street. The X-Men plus Xavier then drove down West 18th until they reached the right-hand turns onto 7th Avenue. From there, they took 7th down until they reached the final left-hand turn onto West 4th Street and thus into Greenwich Village. Traffic had been terrible that day, making what was supposed to be an hour and six-minute trip, and was usually an hour and fifteen-minute trip, and turned into an hour and half long journey.

The X-Men and Xavier had naturally taken Xavier’s modified Rolls-Royce, so the professor obviously sat in the front. He was wearing the same grey suit he had that morning and chatted amiably to Scott who was seated in the passenger seat to the professor’s side. Scott, who also wore the same khaki suit from breakfast, had been more than a little unresponsive. Bobby, Hank, Warren and Jean all sat in the back row. Bobby had switched into a pale blue t-shirt with the words ‘The Iceman Cometh’ printed on it and white shorts. He spiked his hair again. Warren had kept his outfit from breakfast that morning, including the sockless loafers. Hank, for his part, wore a dark green t-shirt that exposed his massive arms and khaki cargo shorts. Jean had decided to get dressed up for this outing. She wore a black jacket with blue buttons over a blue skirt. She wore a black beret over her red hair and a blue scarf around her neck. She knew she was overdressed and a little ‘preppy’, but she didn’t care. Between her, Scott and Warren, there was certainly enough preppiness to go around, anyway! And unlike her former classmates at her previous schools, none of Bobby’s teasing about Jean’s fashion choices had a malicious, bullying edge to it.

While Jean had sat in the back with Hank, Bobby, and Warren she tried to apologize to all of her fellow X-Men about her behaviour during breakfast. The others had mostly brushed off her apologies, Bobby even laughing about it, but Jean was heartily ashamed of herself. She knew better than to behave in such a way. But she had found it hard, ever since Annie’s death, to remember the lessons her parents had taught her and keep her temper even. She found it flaring up at the oddest times, and her psychic power with it. What was wrong with her? According to the professor, it was just a combination of her teenage years, her burgeoning powers and the trauma from Annie’s death, but Jean didn’t believe it. She was seventeen years old; in another year she would be of both voting age and age of majority. Simultaneously old enough to have a significant say in the country’s direction and old enough to be held legally responsible for her actions. Shouldn’t she be, well, more adult-like at this point? Though her mother always said men didn’t really become adults until they were thirty-five; maybe that was true for women as well. At any rate, Jean was ashamed for her behaviour and apologized profusely. The only person who really seemed to accept her apologies was Scott, and Jean wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

The hour and a half drive from Salem Center down to Greenwich Village hadn’t been filled completely with Jean attempting to atone for her earlier snappishness, however. Hank and Bobby, having gotten bored, decided to engage in a round of the dozens. Jean, who sat among them, thought that her former classmates could have learned something from the two boys about insults. Warren, in between bouts of insults from Bobby and Hank, tried to engage her in conversation. Jean wasn’t sure how she thought about that, either. On the one hand, Warren was unquestionably gorgeous. Indescribably beautiful, even. So it would be great if he were interested in her. But what if he wasn’t? What if Warren was just trying to be friendly? Jean wasn’t sure that she wanted to find out.

So the ride to Christopher Park was awkward, to say the least, for Jean. The others didn’t seem to have that problem, except for the eternally awkward Scott, of course. Once they arrived at Christopher Park, Xavier found a parking spot right along the street. Unwilling to give up the most valuable commodity in New York City, Xavier executed a beautiful parallel parking maneuver, and they all got out of the car.

“Okay, nobody drives in New York. Nobody. Only us weirdos from outside the city do. So why are there never any parking spaces?” Jean complained as Warren helped her out of the car on the side nearest the sidewalk.

“It’s a city of eight and a half million people, Jean,” Scott pointed out as he assisted Xavier out of his side of the Rolls Royce. “Even if just one percent of all New Yorkers drove, that’s still around eight thousand people on the streets.”

“I suppose,” Jean said with a flip of her hair. “Anyway, what’s the plan?”

“There is a little shop over on Grove Street that suits our current needs perfectly,” Xavier said pointing down the eponymous street. “After that, we shall have to keep an eye out for the web-slinger.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Warren agreed, and the X-Men and Xavier crossed the street to head down Grove Street.

“You know, I remember when you couldn’t even rent a place here,” Jean said, her head swiveling right and left to take in the historic Greenwich Village. “Housing prices have really gone down in the last, what? Six months?”

“Yeah, ever since somebody got lucky and nailed Trump,” Bobby agreed. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, if you ask me.”

“Bobby!” Scott scolded. Bobby shrugged.

“What? He was a neo-Nazi fascist, Scott, and you know it. I don’t like our newest elected tyrant, either, but I’m not going to pretend I didn’t do a little dance of joy when somebody put that piece of pufferfish in his food, either.”

“I never understood that,” Jean cut in excitedly. “Not how Trump died; I get that. But why the sudden housing price drop?”

“Well, thanks to a dual effort between the last two newspapers in the entire world,” Bobby said a little sarcastically, “the Daily Bugle and the Daily Planet, we found out in the aftermath that Trump and a whole host of other developers have artificially inflated the market for decades. And by ‘artificially’, I mean flat out lying. The real value of most New York real estate is a lot lower than what it’s been reported for the last few years.”

“But there wasn’t a major crash like the last time the bankers and the real estate moguls were caught screwing around with the prices,” Jean pointed out.

“No, and that’s pretty much thanks to Tony Stark and our newly, duly elected junior tyrant, Robert Kelley,” Bobby explained. “They managed to put together some kind of packaged deal where the wages went up, by a lot, to match the old housing prices and then slashed the housing prices. Now with everybody getting a lot more money and everything a lot cheaper…”

“Money started flowing back into the economy,” Jean said shrewdly.

“Basically,” Bobby agreed. “I mean, that’s not all they did. They also gutted most of Wall Street and poured every dime they took from the big traders and put into things like local coffee shops and other small businesses. Tony put a lot of his own money in there, too: something like five billion dollars in domestic investment. And then Kelley put a crap ton of state money into the market, too. And Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen did the same thing for their states.”

“So instead of letting the economy slide into oblivion like they did back in the thirties, or rewarding the assholes who got us into this mess with more money, they actually bailed out the economy this time,” Jean said, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous delight.

“Pretty much,” Bobby agreed.

“Good,” Jean said firmly. Her parents were some of the last Rockefeller Republicans in the United States, and they’d hated Regan and his economic policies. They had hated Trump even more, and the idea that his downfall had lead to the betterment of so many New Yorker’s lives appealed greatly to her.

“While this lesson in economics is indeed fascinating, might I suggest we turn our attention elsewhere? Namely towards that commotion that is just beginning to brew?” Hank asked, pointing to the 45 Christopher Condominium Complex where a group of rough looking customers had surrounded a short, plump woman in a brown trench coat and were openly harassing her. Most New Yorkers were sidestepping the confrontation, unable or unwilling to get involved in what looked like some serious trouble. Jean was shocked at the citizen's apathy and stretched out with her telekinesis seeking a way, anyway, to stop these clowns.

“Professor?” Scott asked tersely.

“I know what you’re thinking, Scott,” Xavier said. “But I believe that we should wait. This could be our opportunity.” Jean whirled around, ready to give the professor a piece of her mind when out of nowhere, over the sound of the roaring traffic came a distinctive thwip sound. Two of the guys threatening the woman had suddenly grown thin, spider-like webs from their chests and were yanked, hard, backwards on the sidewalk. Landing behind them in a perfect three-point spread was perhaps the oddest figure Jean had ever seen. He was tall and spindly, more like a noodle than a real person. He wore a body suit that was a mix of red and black. The red parts of the suit covered his face then spread out into thick sections atop his arms before expanding back into full gloves. On his chest, the red came down like a tabard before ending in a V-shaped belt. Finally, he wore red boots. The parts of his suit that weren’t red were an almost purplish black. A black spider logo sat on the front of his chest while the red parts of his costume were covered in black lines like a spider’s web. His mask had two white on a black teardrop shaped eyepieces. Jean, quite frankly, wasn’t sure what to make of him.

“It’s that Spider-freak!” one of the gangsters said. “Waste him!” Out of belts and makeshift holsters came over a dozen guns. Jean steadied herself, reaching out to the pistols with her telekinesis to take the weapons away. Spider-Man, however, beat her to it. Moving faster than Jean’s eye could track, Spider-Man rose to his feet and fired rapidly from his hands. With pinpoint precision, the wall-crawler hit every gun the gangsters pulled, gumming them up with sticky webbing. The leader looked down at his piece and swore.

“Now, now,” Spider-Man said. Jean decided Bobby was right; whoever Spider-Man was, he was definitely from Queens. That accent was unmistakable. He also sounded really young; fifteen at the oldest. Jean was a little surprised; she assumed from his name that he’d be older. Which was silly of her, she supposed, but there it was. Spider-Man continued:

“Is that any way to talk in front of a lady? Didn’t your mothers teach you better? Oh right, I forgot: you guys probably don’t even have mothers!”

“At least I’m not some mutie freak, Spider-fucker!” the lead gang-banger screamed. He was a little on the short side, much shorter than the spindly Spider-Man, and underneath his baggy coat he was clearly white; his companions, however, were of a greater ethnic diversity. Jean counted at least one Asian and two black guys, and the two others could have been of Latino descent, but Jean couldn’t be sure. All of them wore thick heavy coats that must have been murder in the summer heat and bandannas across their mouths. Jean thought that was odd, a gang with such mixed ethnicities but then again she didn’t expect to see any gangs, period, in Greenwich Village, so what did she know?

“Such language,” Spider-Man said, shaking his head in mock sadness. “Seriously, dude. What did mutants ever do to you?”

“You ruined my piece, Spider-Freak!” the leader shouted back. Apparently, he didn’t want to continue the discussion about mutants.

“Well, you know if you’re not going to play nice with your toys I’m going to have to take them away,” Spider-Man said, wagging his finger. The leader apparently had had enough of Spider-Man’s banter and charged at him with a switchblade. Spider-Man easily blocked the blade and said:

“Tsk tsk. Is that really the best you can do? What are the gangs coming to these days that they can’t even knife fight properly? It’s a travesty, I tell you.” At the same time, Spider-Man was talking, the gang leader threw another punch with his left hand, trying to catch Spider-Man unawares. Spider-Man blocked this one, too, and the head-butted the gang leader, causing him to crumple to the ground. Two other gangsters charged the wall-crawler from the front, stepping on their boss, while the two thugs who Spider-Man had taken out of the fight earlier scrambled back to their feet and charged Spider-Man from the back. Spider-Man waited until the latest possible second and then front flipped from a standing position over the front two gangsters and then landed behind the sixth bandit who tried to nail the web head with a back kick. Spider-Man caught the kick with his hands and twisted, sending the guy sprawling to the ground. The four gangsters who had tried to charge into Spider-Man instead ended up running smack into each other. Spider-Man said:

“Wow! I can’t believe you guys fell for that old cartoon gag. I thought that only happened in movies like that old Power Rangers one.” He pointed to the sixth gangster lying on the ground and said: “And you, man. Seriously. A for effort. No, really. Good job. Your execution was a little off, though, so I’m only giving you a C.” The gangster let out a stream of curses that would have gotten Jean’s mouth washed out with soap. Spider-Man said:

“All right, all right. C plus. But only because of your strong work ethic and excellent attendance record!” The gangster screamed more curses and Spider-Man just shook his head. Turning to the woman he just rescued, Spider-Man said:

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, ma’am. Kids these days, no manners, right?” The woman looked him up and down and then screamed:

“Help! Spider-Man is trying to rob me!”

“And that’s my clue to get back to web-slinging,” Spider-Man said. He was trying to be glib, but you didn’t have to be a telepath to read the hurt in his voice. He stretched out his hand and fired off another shot of webbing to the top of the condo complex and yanked himself upward. Jean ran forward and shouted:

“Go Spider-Man! You rule!” she devoutly hoped that the web-slinger heard her.

Unfortunately, whether or not Spider-Man did, the crowded streets certainly did.

***

“Thanks a lot, Jean,” Bobby said sarcastically as they made their why down Washington Place. Bobby was still picking egg out of his hair.

“You heard that bitch, Bobby!” Jean snapped, fuming. She had managed to use her telekinesis to discreetly keep the worst of the food and rocks that had been thrown at them off of her and her fellow X-Men, but some had gotten through. She would have to get her jacket and skirt dry cleaned, but at the moment she didn’t care. “Spider-Man rescued her from whatever those terrible thugs had in mind and then she turns around and accuses him of theft! What gratitude. That boy deserved some support, and you know it.”

“I think what Bobby’s trying to say is that he would have preferred you display your support is a less public fashion,” Hank said. He, too, had little bits of egg stuck to his hair. “We could have done without being subject to a vaudeville routine.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said, shaking his hand at Hank to emphasize his point. Jean, however, refused to be moved.

“So we got some fruit chucked at us, so what? Do you really think they’ll be that gentle when mutants come out? You heard what that punk said. They’re going to throw a lot worse at us when mutants become public knowledge and even worse at us personally because we’re going be protecting our people. Or did you think that being an X-Man was going to be easy?” she demanded viciously. Bobby and Hank looked appropriately ashamed, and Jean felt a certain savage satisfaction.

“I think Jean’s right,” Scott said as he pushed Xavier’s chair down the street.

“There’s a surprise,” Bobby muttered under his breath. Scott ignored him.

“The thing is, we are going to be in danger from a lot worse than what we got when we supported Spider-Man,” Scott continued. “And we need to be prepared. This was a good warm-up for what’s coming next.”

“What you need to do is to stop treating everything like it’s a training exercise,” Warren said with a yawn. “But you’re probably right, Scott. Jean. We’re going to get hammered over the next few months. Might as well stick with a fellow freak.”

“Speaking of,” Scott said, peering down at Xavier in his chair, “what’s the next step, Professor?”

“That’s relatively simple, Scott,” Xavier answered. “While Spider-Man was dealing with those wayward youths, I was able to establish a temporary psychic link with him. He is a most remarkable young man, but not, I think a mutant.”

“So this trip was a waste of time, then,” Scott said.

“Not so, Scott,” Xavier corrected. “I was able to arrange a meeting with the young Spider-Man. He will be dropping on us shortly.”

“You know, I always wondered how ‘shortly’ became a thing,” said a voice above them. The X-Men and Xavier turned to look up at Spider-Man, sitting on the side of a building. “I mean, when you think about it, it’s kind of weird. What does height have to do with being somewhere quickly?”

“Hello, Spider-Man,” Xavier said pleasantly back up at the wall-crawler. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Though perhaps this conversation should be held elsewhere? Perhaps some place more private?”

“You want privacy, I can give you privacy,” Spider-Man answered and with that he made a giant sling out of his webs, large enough for the whole group to comfortably stand on and be lifted, via a pulley system that Spider-Man had made out of his own webs up to the top of the building. Then Spider-Man leapt up to the top of the roof with them.

“You know, it’s a good thing New Yorkers never look up,” he said.

“Indeed,” Xavier agreed. “My name is Professor Xavier.”

“Sure, I’ve heard of you,” Spider-Man said. “The guy who runs that ultra-private school way up in Westchester. Never would have figured you for a telepath though. I’m just going to take a wild couple of guesses here, but that’s what your ‘school’ really is, isn’t? A place to train people with weird and freaky powers. And the rest of your students, they’ve got powers too, right?”

“Correct,” Xavier answered. “Though I dislike the term ‘freaky.’ These are my students: Scott, Bobby, Hank, Warren, and Jean. Their sobriquets are Cyclops, Angel, Iceman, Beast and Marvel Girl.”

“Marvel Girl?” Spider-Man asked, turning those giant bug-like eyes towards her. Jean could see how his fellow New Yorkers saw the young man as creepy. Still, she refused to be intimidated and said:

“Yes, Marvel Girl. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, no,” Spider-Man answered, raising his arms in a form of surrender. “Not a problem at all. It’s just the kind of name a seventeen-year-old girl would think of.”

“Right,” Jean said skeptically. She was sure she was being made fun of but decided not to press it.

“The point is,” Xavier interrupted, “is that we are mutants.”

“Mutants,” Spider-Man said flatly.

“Yes, mutants,” Xavier said. “As in…”

“I’m familiar with the science, baldy,” Spider-Man said, cutting the professor off. “You’re a genetic subset of humans, created by an active ‘X-gene,’ that somehow gives you superpowers. First recorded in the early forties in a Nazi concentration camp when _somebody_ with magnetic powers ripped apart a Nazi concentration camp though there have been other unconfirmed sightings before and since then.”

“I’m impressed, Spider-Man,” Xavier said admiringly. “Most people don’t know anything about mutants, either our history or the science that lies behind our condition.”

“I read,” Spider-Man said with a shrug. “Here’s the problem, wheels. You guys are supposed to be fringe science. You don’t exist. You’re the feature headliners of guys like Breitbart and InfoWars, home to everybody’s favourite conspiracy theorists.”

“At least you don’t believe that we’re the result of Nazi experimentation,” Hank muttered. Spider-Man turned his giant bug eyes towards Hank and said:

“Never said I didn’t, did I?”

“While I admit that being the subject of whatever stupidity the alt-right is committing right now is a source of deep personal shame,” Xavier said, “I nevertheless assure you that we are quite real. Perhaps a demonstration is in order. Jean, Bobby?”

Bobby and Jean nodded. Bobby quickly turned his hand into snow and fired off a snowball at the corner of the building. Jean reached out with her mind and lifted some rubble that had been left to lie there. It was getting easier and easier to use her telekinesis every time she used it and tried to show off a little, juggling the bits of rubble. The strain was immense, and so she quickly put the bricks down. She was flushed and sweating, but proud of herself. Having only been in Xavier’s school for so long, she was quickly getting the hang of her power. Although, there was this nagging sense that the power she was tapping into was only a fraction of what she could really do…

“All right,” Spider-Man said, looking at the rubble and the rapidly melting snow. “Okay, so you definitely got the freaky powers part down. The next question is: what does that have to do with me?”

“We were wondering if you were a mutant, as well,” Xavier said. Spider-Man chuckled.

“Well, I’m definitely _mutated_ ,” he said, “but I’m not exactly a _mutant_ if you know what I mean.”

“Are you suggesting that your powers are not natural in origin?” Hank asked.

“And the walking gorilla gets it in one!” Spider-Man said. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. There was this spider that was genetically modified and then bathed in radiation. It escaped the lab and I must have looked like a good meal ‘cause it bit me. After that, I gained the proportional strength, agility and speed of a spider. But not the webs though. Those I had to make on my own.”

“Fascinating,” Hank said. “Your web shooters must be muscle controlled, then. Otherwise, you would never be able to create such a structure as what you used to lift the professor and us up here.”

“You should play for the Mets, Beastie boy,” Spider-Man said. “’Cause you’re batting a thousand today.”

“Please, I prefer more intellectual pursuits,” Hank said dismissively. “Besides, the Yankees are the better baseball team, anyway.”

“Them’s fighting words in certain parts of this city,” Spider-Man warned. Warren snorted.

“Yeah, figures a guy from _Queens_ would support a team as lame as the Mets.”

“Hey, do I go to Boston and insult your team?” Spider-Man demanded. “Not that’d be hard. I mean, it is the Red Sox. The only thing easier than insulting them would be insulting Jersey. There’s just no challenge in it. But I guess unlike people from Boston, I have some class and don’t go around insulting _their_ team in _their_ city.”

“Sure you don’t,” Warren said, arching an eyebrow. “’Cause you’re just so _classy_. What with being  a New Yorker and all.”

“Exactly,” Spider-Man said.

“This is all not very interesting,” Scott interrupted, “but can we focus on the task at hand, please? He’s not a mutant, professor. What do we do?”

Xavier looked at Spider-Man thoughtfully. He said:

“What would you prefer for us to do, Spider-Man?”

“Well, you hadn't actually come out and said it,” Spider-Man said carefully, “but I think you’re trying to offer me a place at your school. And if that’s the case, I’m going to have to say no. I just can’t afford the bus fare between Manhattan and Salem Center, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand,” Xavier said. “However, I would urge you to…” Just then, an explosion went off to the north.

“That’s not good,” Jean said, whirling around to face where the explosion had come from.

“Is understatement some kind of blue blood sport, or is that only for people from Westchester?” Spider-Man asked.

“I’m from Putnam,” Jean said primly. “And we should do something!”

“I’ll handle this,” Spider-Man said. “I’ll let you guys down gently. I’m willing to bet that it’s a repeat performance from our friends from earlier. The Kingpin doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Probably that’s why he needs a scale every morning.”

The crack flew over Jean’s head, but Spider-Man’s apparently suicidal desires sure didn’t.

“You can’t handle this alone!” she insisted. “Those… those assholes down there nearly tore you apart last time!”

“Wow, such language,” Spider-Man mocked. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Bite me, bug boy,” Jean answered hotly. “You go out there, you’re going to get killed. Let us come with you!”

“Right, because Spider-Man and the Pep Squad Brigade is such a good idea,” Spider-Man said sarcastically. “You know these guys have guns, right? That shoots bullets? Somehow, I don’t think that nice little jacket of yours is really going to hold up to gunfire.”

“You’re not the only superhero in town,” Jean shot back. “We’ve been training, and we’ve got body armour on underneath our street clothes. Better armour than that homemade fetish suit you’re wearing.”

Spider-Man looked down at his suit. “You’ve got some weird fetishes, lady,” he said. “And the answer’s still no. I can’t risk you getting killed for me.”

“Scott!” Jean demanded, looking for support.

Scott rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She has a point, Spider-Man,” he said. “We do have the training and the gear. And I’m not any more comfortable letting you go off on your own to face gun-toting thugs than you are with bringing us along. Besides, it’s not like you’re the only one with superpowers.”

Warren raised his hand. “Do the rest of us get a vote in this?” he asked.

“No,” Scott said bluntly.

“Of course not,” Warren said, smirking. “Jean suggested it, so it must be a good idea.”

“Shut up, Warren,” Scott replied. Jean went redder than Spider-Man’s suit.

“Well, you should never argue with a redhead anyway,” Spider-Man said. “Least, that’s what my uncle always told me. All right, you geeks get changed. Here, gorgeous.” Stretching out his hands, Spider-Man quickly webbed up a screen between the building’s roof access door and its exhaust vent. “Some privacy for the lady,” he said, giving her a courteous gesture.

“Thanks, I think,” Jean said sarcastically and rushed over behind the screen to get changed.

“What about us guys?” Bobby complained mockingly.

“Don’t worry, nobody wants to look at you Captain Cold,” Spider-Man answered. “It would give them nightmares.”

“Gee thanks,” Bobby said sarcastically.

“Don’t mention it!” Spider-Man said cheerfully. “Here you go, Pops. Let’s get you down before all the excitement gives you a heart attack.”

“I’d forgotten what dealing with people from the city was like,” Xavier said as Spider-Man lowered him down to the ground in a version of the webbing contraption he had used earlier to bring them all up.

Jean took off her blue jacket and skirt, revealing her costume on underneath. Fortunately, the blue of the leggings had blended into the blue of her outfit. She then quickly grabbed her mask out of her purse and put on her head, adjusting for the eyeholes. Then she ran out from behind the webbing. The guys were only half-dressed. Jean stopped in her tracks to admire the boys before realising what she was doing, blushed, and went back behind the webbing. A few seconds later, Scott called out:

“We’re ready, Jean.” Jean ran back out from behind the webbing and was both pleased and disappointed to see that the boys were indeed fully dressed. She wondered what her mother would say, now that Jean was having all these naughty thoughts. She’d probably disown her daughter, and so Jean resolved never to mention them to her.

“All right, gorgeous, hop on,” Spider-Man said. He extended his left arm in a hook for Jean to sit on. Jean looked at him skeptically and then settled down into his grasp. Spider-Man extended his right arm and fired off a line of webbing. With a shout, he and Jean were off swinging.

END CHAPTER

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> Last chapter I changed damn near everything. This chapter, I did a grammar check and that’s it. Weird, huh? Catch you next time!
> 
> ***
> 
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby. The Amazing Spider-Man created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Steve Ditko.
> 
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	7. Enter The Amazing Spider-Man! Part 2

The Uncanny X-Men Chapter 7: Enter the Amazing Spider-Man, Part 2

Jean Grey had never felt anything like web-slinging before. It was exhilarating as it was terrifying, holding tightly onto Spider-Man’s back as he dropped to the lowest possible point before firing a web-line out of his wrists and latching it on to one of New York’s innumerable skyscrapers. The web-line would pull taught, causing Spider-Man and Jean to arc ever forward, before Spider-Man reached the apex of his arc and repeated the whole process all over again. Jean supposed she would have been impressed with the wall-crawler’s seemingly instinctive understanding of trajectory and force he needed to sling his way across the city like that if she weren’t holding on for dear life and had her eyes closed shut so tight that her eyelids may have been welded together. As it was, Jean was having trouble keeping her lunch down as they sped through the city. Sped too far in, fact.

“Aren’t we going back to Christopher Park?” Jean asked. “It wasn’t that far away!”

“Slight change in plans, Red,” Spider-Man answered. “Whoever set that explosion, it looks like they didn’t do it in the Village. We might have to… oh, nope, wait. I think we found them. Hold on.” Jean privately thought she was holding on as tight as she possibly could as it was and then Spider-Man did a backflip and landed in a perfect three-point landing on the hard asphalt of a New York street. Jean climbed carefully off of his back, grateful that she could still stand and wasn’t painting the streets a nauseating array of colours from her own vomit.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favourite gang of arsonists,” Spider-Man cracked, standing straight with an ease that Jean desperately envied and struggled to imitate. “Loser One, Loser Two, and Loser Three! Where’s Losers Four and Five? They can’t want to miss this!”

“Shit! It’s the webhead!” one of the bombers, dressed in a black bulky sweater and black pants with a ski mask over his head said. He was the bulkiest of the three; the other two were short and skinny and of a more average build, respectively. Otherwise, all three of them looked identical, what with wearing the same suits and all. “What do we do?”

“Waste the motherfucker,” the bomber of average height, apparently the leader, answered. “His girlfriend, too!”

“I just love the automatic assumption that when a guy and a girl show up together, they’re dating,” Spider-Man said. “I mean, it is possible for two people of the opposite sex to be friends, you know. Then again, you guys probably don’t even know what the word ‘friend’ means. Or even what a woman looks like. Probably spend all day with blow-up dolls, don’t you?”

The leader let out a scream of unprocessed rage and drew his pistol. The other two followed suit. By this point, Jean was back on balance and reached out with her mind to seize the leader’s gun and tore it out of his grip, sending it spinning off into the crowd that was forming. It landed just in front of a man with brown hair dressed in a shabby trench coat and even shabbier suit, who stopped the gun with his foot. Spider-Man fired two lines of webbing at the other bombers guns and yanked them both towards him. The bulky one lowered his head and charged, only to be hit from behind by Hank McCoy who said:

“I think not, my friend. Don’t you know that violence is the last refuge of the incompetent?” Bulky hit the street hard, but rolled with the hit and sprang back up to his feet almost instantly. Behind the other two bombers, Scott Summers, Bobby Drake and Warren Worthington III marched into view.

“What the fuck?” Bulky demanded. “I thought Spidey worked alone!”

“There comes a time in every superhero’s life when he does the team up thing, Mister I-Can’t-Fit-Through-Doorways,” Spidey answered. “So I’d like you to meet my new friends, the X-Men. The dude over with the shades so awful even the eighties had to reject them is Cyclops, the human bowling ball that knocked over your sad excuse for muscle is Beast, and the escapee from a Renaissance painting is Angel. The way-too-good-looking-for-this-town woman beside me is Marvel Girl. And if you can’t guess what Snow Cone over there’s name is, I’m going to weep. And you guys wouldn’t like me when I’m sad.”

“I’m going to like you a lot more when you’re dead,” the leader snarled. Spidey laughed.

“I always knew math wasn’t your strong suit, buddy, but I figured you could at least count. There’s six of us and three of you. By my count, that puts the odds at two to one,” the webhead said.

“Unfortunately for you, wall-crawler, I stashed some jokers in the deck,” the leader said and out of the crowd materialized another dozen thugs, all of whom were dressed the same way that the first three where. “I think the odds have changed a little, don’t you? Say, to around two to one against?”

“Technically it’s two and a half to one against,” Spidey answered. “But, you know, A for effort.”

“Kill them,” the leader of the thugs snarled. And with that, the ring of the thugs charged in.

Scott was grabbed from behind, but not before firing one of his optic blasts into the leader of the thugs. The leader went down, hard, while Hank kicked Bulky in the gut, sending him head over heels before backflipping over Shorty and knocking him down with a sweeping kick. Warren grabbed two of the goons and hung them on the lampposts by their sweaters. Bobby, now in full snowman mode, started chucking snowballs at his opponents, though they did not seem particularly interested in getting too close to the walking snowman. Spidey had taken on five or six of the goons at once and was bouncing between them, cracking wise all the while.

Jean was in the most trouble. Three of the goons had surrounded her, knives at the ready. She would have to think her way out of this one.

“Don’t worry, Red, we won’t hurt you,” the lead goon leered, his words belied by the knife he was waving around.

“Much,” the goon to Jean’s right cackled.

Jean kept calm. “It’s all right boys,” she replied. “I don’t think you’re quite _man_ enough for me, anyway.” Her palms were sweating underneath her costume, but the uniform and its all-concealing face mask lent Jean a new confidence to deal with her attackers. Now if only it lent her a way out of this mess…

“I’ll show you man enough!” the hooligan to her left snarled and charged Jean, his knife outstretched to skewer the young redhead. Jean instinctively leaned back, reaching out with her mind to stop the ruffian. Instead, she hit him in the backside, causing him to tumble head over heels onto the hard New York asphalt.

“Tsk, tsk,” Jean said calmly, inwardly amazed at her good fortune. “Is that any way to treat a lady?”

The lead bruiser looked at Jean warily. “I don’t know what you did, Scarlet,” he said, “but I guarantee you it’ll be the last thing you do.” With that, he and the remaining goon charged, blades held out as if they were spears.

Time seemed to slow done for Jean as the two young hoods rushed in. It was as though the world wanted to show Jean in excruciating detail just how badly she had screwed up, showing her all the ways in which she was going to die once those blades connected.

Or how to save her life instead. For out of the corner of her eye, Jean noticed a large stretch of rope off to her left, probably left over from some construction site. Jean grinned a rictus grin of terror and grabbed the rope with her mind. Swiftly, she pulled the rope out horizontally across her attacker's chest, clotheslining them. The hoodlums smacked straight into the heavy cord with a heavy thud. Grinning even more broadly, Jean looped the rope around her attackers, imprisoning them in its heavy coils. Then she turned to look around at the rest of the battle.

For five amateurs and one semi-experienced superhero, the X-Men and Spider-Man weren’t doing too bad. Which was another way of saying they weren’t doing all that well, either. Angel was currently playing tag with two of the bruisers, who had managed to get a weighted rope from somewhere and were trying to throw it on Angel to pin him down while he flew out of the rope’s reach and kept trying to dive bomb his attackers. Bobby and Hank were now back to back, thrashing violently against a ring of goons. Scott, in the meantime, had disappeared under a dog-pile of hoods, the only indication he was still fighting being the occasional bursts of his eye-beams from beneath the dog-pile, sending another tough sprawling out into the street.

Spider-Man seemed to be doing the best of the lot. He had thrashed his assailants and was now dancing around the leader of the gang, trading taunts back and forth. Jean decided that Scott needed her help the most when a shout rang out from the crowd:

“You go, Spidey! Kick this loser’s ass!” Jean turned to see a very buxom woman with skin the colour of sable standing at the edge of the crowd. She wore a leopard print halter top and skin-tight jeans. _Jean_ found her incredibly distracting; Spidey apparently, did, too.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” Spidey said standing still for a second too long, allowing his dancing partner to get a good hit in and send the web-slinger to the ground. Deciding in that moment that Scott could probably handle himself, Jean went and did something extraordinarily stupid:

She leapt onto the lead hooligan’s back and started beating him about the head. The lead goon let out a startled shriek and tried to pull Jean off. Jean held on for dear life, hands tight around her opponent’s neck. Acting on impulse, Jean leaned in and bit the goon on the ear. The hood howled in pain and started trying to scratch at Jean’s face.

“This is going to go down in history as the most high-school of all New York street fights,” Spidey said, having apparently recovered from getting smacked down while Jean and the lead tough had been doing their bastardized version of a piggyback ride and was now standing right in front of the odd duo. “And considering this is New York, that’s saying something,” he added. The lead hood stopped dead in front of Spidey, his breath coming out in heavy, almost frenzied spurts. Spidey looked him up and down and then said:

“You can let go of him, now. I think this fight’s over.” Jean clambered down from the hoodlum’s back. The goon just stayed right where he was, swaying gently on his feet.

"I don't know who the hell you people are," the hoodlum said. "But we'll get you! You'll see!"

"'We'll get you?'" Spidey asked. "Could you have come up with any cornier dialogue?"

The goon swore, struggled to his feet and then collapsed again before he could get to the wall-crawler. Just then, sirens began to sound.

"Ah, New York's finest," Spidey said. "Never around when you need them and always there when you don't. Let's get out of here, Red."

"Works for me," Jean said. "Guys?"

"I do believe that an expeditious exit is warranted," Hank agreed.

"I'm with the walking dictionary over here," Bobby said. "Let's book."

"If we're all in agreement, then why are we still hanging around here for?" Scott demanded, and with that, the X-Men and Spider-Man left, but not before Jean noticed a man in a rumpled brown trench coat muscle his way to the head of the crowd and begin talking to one of the hoods. Jean decided to keep him in mind for later; for now all that mattered was not spending the night in a New York jail cell.

* * *

Half an hour after the X-Men and Spider-Man's battle with the Kingpin's henchmen, Jean was back into her civilian clothes and had walked into Three Lives and Company, one of Greenwich Villages bookstores. Jean had been there before with her parents and knew the young woman working the counter, one Haniyya Ahmad.

"Hello Jean," Haniyya called out as Jean walked through the bookstore's front door. She was dressed in a sand-coloured dress and white hijab that wrapped around her neck and hair. Her skin was the colour of a beach and her eyes only slightly darker. "How are you today?"

"I'm doing all right," Jean answered, manoeuvring her way through the piles of books that littered the floor. "I just transferred to a new school."

"Ah," Haniyya said, crinkling her button nose in sympathy. Although the two girls didn't know each that well, Haniyya had heard of some of Jean's school troubles. "I heard about the gym incident in the news," she admitted. "Did you really blow up your own gym?"

"Of course not!" Jean said hotly, more than a little stung that Haniyya could believe such a thing of her. The accusation stung particularly because it was, at least in one sense, true. "The gym was old and rotting anyway," Jean continued. "And the damage wasn't that bad."

"Right," Haniyya said in a tone that wasn't quite disbelieving, and Jean knew that she had not convinced the other woman. "Jean, if you're in trouble..."

"I'm not," Jean said sharply, cutting Haniyya off. Realizing that she had spoken more harshly than she had intended, Jean offered the native New Yorker a crooked grin and said: "No more than usual, anyway. And my new school is great! It's Professor Xavier's academy, you know, the one for gifted students?"

"Oh!" Haniyya said, her brown eyes going wide. "Yeah, I've heard of that one. The bald dude in the wheelchair, right? The one who starts a new school and then only takes in, like three students?"

"It's a private academy," Jean admitted. "And kind of experimental. So the student base isn't very big yet. But it's a lot better than the other schools I went to. At least the professor actually cares about his students."

"Lucky you," Haniyya said wryly, a sour grin on her face. "They're trying to shut down even more public schools here," she continued, "and force more of us into charter schools. Well, the ones that can afford it, anyway. Everybody is being left behind with second-rate teachers and equipment that would have to be fixed up to qualify as broken down."

"Bastards," Jean replied firmly. She had attended a charter school once; to claim that the experience was unpleasant would be like saying space is vast. "Well, the professor isn't like that," Jean said. "He's a great teacher and the curriculum's great. The only real problem is that I'm the only girl in the school."

"You poor, poor girl," Haniyya said, half-mocking, half-sympathetic. "How do you put up with that much testosterone?"

"It's not all bad," Jean replied. "They're actually pretty all right, for the most part. Bobby's a goofball, but he's done the most to help me settle in. And Hank and Warren are pretty okay, too. The only one I can't really get along with is Scott. He's just so... so stiff. So rigid."

"Uh-huh," Haniyya said. "Are they hot?"

"Yes," Jean admitted, blushing furiously. "Some more than others."

"Ah, to be the only girl in a school full of hot boys," Haniyya sighed wistfully. "So, how many times have you snuck into their locker room for a quick peek?"

" _Haniyya_!" Jean said, turning such a bright shade of red one might have thought she was giant red blood cell. Haniyya, for her part just cackled evilly.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you've never thought about it," Haniyya countered.

In point of fact, Jean had thought about it. Often. But that wasn't something a good girl from a respectable family was supposed to admit to, so instead, she countered with: "aren't you supposed to be Muslim?"

"Yeah, but I'm not dead," Haniyya countered reasonably. "Besides, even those ultra-conservative weirdos all wrapped up in their ninja robes have imaginations."

"Yes, well," Jean said, desperately smoothing down her jacket as though that would smoothe away her embarrassment as well. "That's, you know, good for them. Really. Anyway, I'm not here to discuss boys, I'm here to buy some books."

"Sure," Haniyya said as she stretched. Getting up from behind the counter she asked: "What are you looking for? I'll see if we have it in."

"Oh, no, you don't have to get up," Jean said lamely, waving at the other woman to sit back down.

"It's all right," Haniyya said. "It's not like I have any other customer's to deal with." And she was right about that; the bookstore was oddly dead for that time of day. Jean assumed that all the customers had gone on to see what all the ruckus back in Christopher Park was all about.

"All right," Jean acquiesced reluctantly. "If it's not an imposition..."

"It's not," Haniyya said earnestly. "It really isn't. The shop's kind of dead, anyway."

"I noticed that," Jean said, looking around at the bookstore. And, indeed, the normally busy New York bookstore was as quiet as Scott Summer's idea of a party. "Where is everybody?" Jean asked.

"Out," Haniyya answered. "There was some commotion down in Christopher Park. Spider-Man and some new weirdoes in yellow and blue spandex were throwing down with the Kingpin's goon squad, apparently."

"It's not spandex," Jean said automatically.

"Oh?" Haniyya said, raising one of her delicate eyebrows. "And just how would you know that, dear Jean?"

"I was there," Jean said quickly, cursing herself for the slip. "At the fight, I mean. It wasn't spandex, more like some kind of lightweight body armour. You know, like those extreme sports guys sometimes wear?"

"Yeah, I know it," Haniyya agreed. "That makes more sense than Spandex, anyway. I wonder who these new guys are?"

"No idea," Jean lied hoping the other woman wouldn't notice. This time. "I noticed not a lot of people like Spider-Man?" she said instead, hoping to lead the other woman away from that dangerous line of inquiry.

"Typical New Yorkers," Haniyya said dismissively. "We complain about everything. Cops show up and save lives, what do we do? Bitch about their structural problems. Black Lives Matter goes to protest the cop's abuses and what do we do? Bitch about how they're ignoring black-on-black crime." The young Muslim woman shook her head in mock dismay. "Spidey's just a victim of that," she continued. "Just New Yorkers being New Yorkers. He's a hero, and most people here know that."

"You're awfully cynical about your hometown, Haniyya," Jean pointed out.

"Muslim, Arab-American woman," Haniyya said with a dismissive shrug. "You get to see the ugly underbelly of a lot of different groups that way. Anyway, let's find you your books."

The two women then moved about the bookshop, looking through all the nooks and crannies of the store for the books Jean was looking for. Some of them, like Jean's history texts, Jean wasn't embarrassed about at all. Other tomes were, however, of a more personal nature and Jean once again flushed red.

"So you do have an imagination," Haniyya said as she rang the books through. "I was worried there for a moment that maybe your puritan upbringing had done some long-term damage."

"It's not funny," Jean muttered, her head bowed and redder than a fire engine. Haniyya gave the young redhead a pitying smile, but there was no pity in her next words.

"Jean, look. All that fear of sex is going to get you is some major neuroses in life. It's good that you're finally exploring your sexuality. Trust me," Haniyya said sourly, "the last thing you want to do is get stuck in some ultra-conservative hell-hole."

"Yeah, maybe," Jean said reluctantly, her blush starting to fade. She knew that Haniyya was telling her was true, and she found the whole subject of human sexuality fascinating, but it still weirded her out on some fundamental level. Especially when she was talking to someone that she only barely knew. Just then, the door to the bookstore opened up and a gang of three white males walked.

Jean turned around to assess the newcomers and knew instantly that they were trouble. From their fascist-style haircuts to tattoos that were clearly visible thanks to their wife-beaters, they had the aura of white nationalists. And Jean knew from personal experience that two woman, one of whom was POC, was under extreme threat from this new group of troublemakers.

"Well, what do we have here?" the leader of the three said jauntily, his brown eyes alight with malice. "It looks like another one of those terrorists here to steal our jobs, isn't that right boys?"

"Yeah," the taller of the two remaining slugs said sycophantically. "Take our jobs," the other, shorter, thug agreed.

"I'm a native New Yorker, asshole," Haniyya shot back.

The lead white nationalist cocked his head quizzically. "Now, that can't be right," he said mockingly. "I thought I heard you say you were a native. But you see, New York was settled by white people..."

"I suggest you learn your history, dickhead," Jean spoke up. She was shaking with a combination of fear and anger. Fear, because this would be only the second fight she had gotten into in her entire life and one without the support of her team. But also anger, red-hot anger hot that blazed in her like a forest fire. That these... vermin could come in here and threaten and intimidate her friend burned Jean something fierce. She would have to do something about that, she thought and began drawing up her telekinetic power in preparation for a confrontation. "New York belonged to the Lenape long before white people ever settled here."

The taller of the three white nationalists, the one who had spoken first in support of their leader turned his head over towards Jean and ambled towards her. Jean took a step back and reached for one of the heavy books she had just bought. "Look what I got here," he said, now close enough that Jean could smell his breath. It stunk of cheap cigarettes and cheaper booze, and Jean had to fight not to gag. "A little ginger libtard. Speaking up for her terrorist friend. How much..." Jean's hand had closed around a book. With an almighty effort, she swung it out from the counter and into the white nationalist's head. The white nationalist spun around as though he were a top, blood and teeth shooting out of his mouth.

"The little bitch hit me!" the nationalist said in shock as he cupped his hand over his mouth.

"You're goddamn right I hit you," Jean said. "And I'll hit you again, and again, and again if you don't get the fuck out of this store. Right now!"

"Listen, lady, I don't know what your problem is..." the leader began hotly, but Jean cut him off with a laugh.

"Of course you don't," she said with a sneer. "Goddamn neo-Nazi freak. You come into this store and try and intimidate me and my friend, and then get butthurt when I fight back? Fucking spineless, white supremacist coward. You're not even a real New Yorker, are you? Probably come from Jersey."

The leader seemed to take personal offence at that last. Jean, meanwhile, was thinking that she'd have to apologize to New Jersey somehow for suggesting that this pond scum came from there and that just felt wrong. "Get the bitch!" the leader screamed and all three thugs converged on the two woman.

This was a mistake. Time seemed to slow down for Jean as she took the heavy book that was in her hand heaved it at the leader's head, guiding it with her telekinesis. The book landed with a satisfying crack, smashing his nose to pieces and leaving a satisfying bruise all over the man's face. Before the other two monsters could react, Haniyya had already placed two more books in Jean's hand, and she launched them with uncanny precision, aided by her growing telekinesis, right into the other two's faces. Bloodied and concussed, the three bolted.

"What do they teach in that school of Xavier's? Badassery 101?" Haniyya half-demanded, half-joked as she surveyed the damage Jean had wrought.

"Something like that," Jean said with a small smile as she picked up the three books she had tossed from the floor. Peering at their spines, she was pleased to see that they weren't damaged at all, with only a little bit of blood spatter on them. "The professor believes that good physical exercise is key to a healthy mind."

"So does my imam," Haniyya said wryly. "But that doesn't mean I know how to launch books into people's faces!"

"Well, there are self-defence courses," Jean said, shrugging awkwardly. "I mean, it's a tough world out there. We've got to be prepared, you know?"

"Can't argue with that," Haniyya said. Just then, another white male came into the store. This one, though, was carrying coffee and a Kindle, and was dressed a bit like a professor, what with his tweed jacket and patched tan pants.

"I just saw some goons running out of here, in pretty bad shape," he said. "Were they bothering you?"

"Little bit," Haniyya said brightly. "Jean scared 'em off, though."

"That's good," the guy said. "Damned white nationalists. Been having nothing but problems with them for months. Ever since that oversized cheeto ran."

"You'd think it would get better after he died," Jean said bitterly, picking up her books from the counter.

"You'd think," Haniyya said bitterly. "Most of them seem to think it was some kind of conspiracy, though."

"What, that he died?" Jean said, shocked. When she got confirming nods from the other two people, she gaped at them in shock.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she said. "Trump was what, seventy years old? And out of shape to boot. The only thing that's surprising is how he didn't die before."

"You're telling me," Haniyya agreed grimly. She rang Jean's books through and Jean left, edging past the professor as she did so.

Shortly after Jean left the bookshop, she got a text message on her phone. Digging it out of her pocket, she looked down and saw that it was from the professor, asking her and the others to meet back up with him and Bobby by the car at Christopher Park. Jean set off quickly, wondering as she did so why the professor needed them all back there so quickly.

* * *

Bobby Drake wheeled Professor Xavier down to The Smoke Shop, Greenwich Village's local spot for weed. Bobby was the youngest of Xavier's X-Men, not quite seventeen, and had been with the professor for two years now, ever since he had run away from his family over his 'gifts'. Bobby knew that his story wasn't unique: Scott Summers had been raised in the nightmare that was the American foster system, having been bounced from one uncaring foster parent to another until Xavier had found him almost ten years ago. Hank, Bobby's best friend, had likewise been forced away from his family, though in Hank's case his parents had been forced to give him up involuntarily unlike Bobby's. Only Warren, and now Jean, still had a normal connection with their family.

Not that Bobby was complaining all that much. Bobby's parents had not exactly been parenting material when he had lived with them after all, and he had found a newfound family in the X-Men. Even with Scott, despite Scott's generally uptight nature.

At any rate, the new Danger Room sessions that had occupied the X-Men's time had forced them to run out of their supplies of cannabis even faster than usual. And not merely the smokeable kind, either; the far more important muscle ointments that were derived from the useful herb had also run low. Hence why Bobby and the professor were here in The Smoke Shop.

Cannabis had been made legal across the board shortly after Hillary had gotten in. It had been a compromise measure, a way of hiding the fact that that Hillary wasn't going to reform the justice system to any significant degree, but at least young black men would stop getting thrown in jail quite so often on charges that merely gunked up the system and lead to greater racial profiling and discrimination. Small steps, anyway. And it had been a lot better than that maniac Jeff Sessions' idea, which was to implement even harsher mandatory minimums than ever before. Bobby wondered why Sessions was so paranoid about marijuana. Old age? Racism? Ignorance? It didn't really matter. Sessions' chosen candidate had died of a brain aneurysm before the race could even finish, leaving Clinton the sole possible victor. And whatever Hillary's faults, Bobby would take her over Donald Trump any day of the week.

"Hey professor," The Smoke Shop's clerk, one Wendell Gladwin, said from behind the counter. A radio behind played the day's news.

"Good afternoon, Wendell," the professor said. "And how are you today?"

"I'm doing all right," Wendell said. "Here to pick up some new supplies?"

"Yes, it appears we are out of both the smokeable variety of cannabis and the muscle ointments," Xavier said. "As we needed to go into the city today anyway, I thought we might as well drop in."

"Cool," Wendell said. "I'll be right back. I just gotta get your order ready." And with that, he slipped into the store's back room.

Bobby looked around the store. There was the usual paraphernalia: glass bowls, pipes, vapes, and bongs. There were t-shirts, too, decorated with various heroes of bygone ages. They looked like they had been drawn by Darwyn Cooke; probably prints of his from before he died, Bobby decided. There were shirts that pictured the legendary Wonder Woman of the Second World War, blonde and busty in what Bobby had to admit was a ridiculous get-up: a red bustier with a golden eagle on the front and star-spangled blue culottes over her legs. Still, Bobby had to admit Cooke had gotten Wonder Woman's legendary beauty perfectly and he salivated a little staring at the picture. Beside her was a short depicting another World War Two hero, the Green Lantern, Alan Scott. Scott was as blond as Wonder Woman, but there the similarities ended. Where Wonder Woman was a tall woman with classic Mediterranean features and a pronounced bust, Scott was a giant of a man whose facial features were straight out of the Anglo-Saxon mould. He wore a red shirt emblazoned with a green lantern inside a yellow circle. Over the shirt, he wore a green cape. At his waist, he wore a golden belt with an old-fashioned belt-buckle that presumably held up his bright green pants. Over his face, Alan Scott wore a black domino mask, which Bobby thought was several different kinds of ridiculous. Alan Scott was one of the legendary heroes of the Second World War, fighting alongside such giants as Captain America and Namor the Sub-Mariner. Everybody knew who he was, so why bother with the mask? Though Bobby had to admit, it wasn't any more ridiculous than the rest of the costume. Or the costumes he and his fellow X-Men wore.

Speaking of the Sub-Mariner, his visage was also depicted on one of the t-shirts. Bobby had never met the legendarily arrogant prince of the seas, but he had heard lots about him and believed the shirt did the man justice. He was broad-chested, with a swimmers build, and completely naked save for a pair of green speedos.  On each of his feet were a pair of wings, which Bobby thought was pretty damn weird for a fish-man.

There were other shirts depicting other golden age heroes, such as Captain America's support team, The Howling Commandoes. You could tell it was the Commandoes because of Dum Dum Duggan's legendary bowler hat. And beside the shirt depicting the Commandoes was another one depicting Nick Fury, the original, white one. Bobby wondered what that infamously cantankerous sergeant would have thought about his namesake and what he was doing in the world today.

"Admiring the artwork, Robert?" Professor Xavier asked.

"Yeah, I didn't realize Darwyn Cooke had done so many prints of those old heroes," Bobby said, shaking his head sadly. "Shame he's dead, you know? He was a great comic book artist."

"I will have to take your word for it, Robert, I was never much of a reader of comic books," Xavier said, a note of distaste in his voice. Bobby grinned. For all that the professor was progressive in many ways, he could also be an elitist snob. Which Bobby didn't mind so much. He figured there were worse sins in the world than looking down on comic books and video games, and at least the professor wasn't one of those people who blamed modern pop culture for every little thing that went wrong.

"I've noticed that you and young Miss Grey have been spending a lot of time together, Robert," Xavier said.

Bobby shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so," he replied. "I've been helping her settle in, anyway. I got the feeling that she was pretty sheltered by her folks."

"Yes, I would suspect so," Xavier agreed. "The Greys are an old, blue-blooded family in New York. Cousins by marriage to the Roosevelts, blood cousins of some relation or another to my own family... to the Bushes, too I think."

"Wait, so you and Jean are related?" Bobby asked, surprised.

"Somehow, yes," Xavier answered. "I believe she is my great, great grand-niece or something like that. I have to admit, I never paid much attention to that sort of thing. Personal genealogies always bored me. And at any rate, we're getting off topic. The reason I asked you about Miss Grey is that I was wondering if I needed to reiterate the school's policy about fraternization to you?" The kindly old professor looked down his aristocratic nose at Bobby, his gaze equal parts disapproving and supportive.

Bobby for his part looked at his mentor as though he were speaking Coptic Greek and then burst out laughing when what Xavier had asked him finally penetrated his skull.

"Oh, you got it all wrong professor," Bobby said with a laugh. "Jean and I are just friends, that's all. Redheads aren't really my thing and after my last girlfriend... Eh, I'm not really interested in jumping into a relationship so soon. Besides," Bobby added with just a light touch of grimness to his tone, "I think Scott and Warren both have their eye on her."

"Oh dear," Professor Xavier said. "Oh dear indeed. I don't suppose they could be persuaded to share?"

Bobby snorted. "Those two? They couldn't share a pizza... with toppings they both like. Although," he said with an evil grin on his face, "it might be worth suggesting it to see how Jean reacts."

"Don't you dare," Xavier admonished. "I mean it, Robert. Leave the poor girl alone. I think she has enough trouble fitting in as it is."

"Ah, you're no fun, Professor," Bobby said. Just then, Wendell came back from the inventory room.

"Here it is, professor," the clerk said, handing out brown paper bag. Bobby took out a recyclable bag from a larger bag that hung from the professor's chair and transferred all the goods in the brown bag into his recyclable one while the professor paid. As this transaction was going on, the radio finally mentioned the X-Men and Spider-Man's exploits from earlier that day.

"That Spider-Man," Wendell said disgustedly. "Goddamn show-boat. Where does he get off, endangering people like that? And who are these knew freaks?"

"Way I heard it, Wendell, it was that gang of thugs that decided to blow up parts of Manhattan," Bobby pointed out as he put the last of the weed and ointments in the bag.

"Probably as revenge for something else that wall-crawling freak did," Wendell shot back. "Just the other day that weirdo trashed the home of Wilson Fisk. Fisk! That guy did more for New York than anybody other than maybe J. Jonah Jameson. And these, I don't know, these new freaks or whatever, who the fuck are they? People who should mind their own business, that's who. They're not real American heroes, like those guys," he added, jerking his head towards the t-shirts.

"Funny, I thought Wonder Woman was an Amazon," Bobby said dryly. "And Namor was an Atlantean. Didn't realize they changed their citizenship after the war."

Wendell shot him a dirty look. "You trying to start something, buddy?" he growled.

"Of course not, Wendell, of course not," Xavier said soothingly as he grabbed the bag. "Merely pointing out that your interpretation of 'real American hero' seems a bit... arbitrary? Yes, I think that's the word. I think we should be going, Bobby," Xavier said to his young student. "The others should be done by now."

"Of course, professor," Bobby said as he stepped up to wheel the professor out of the store. As he did so, Wendell shot the two of them an ugly look. Bobby fluttered his eyelashes at the clerk, causing the clerk to turn away in disgust. Bobby just laughed.

He wondered how the others were doing.

Just then, the professor's phone rang. Bobby hurriedly dug it out of the saddle bag and turned it over to the professor.

"Hm, that looks like Jonah's number," Xavier said as he answered the phone.

"Hello?" he asked. "Why, hello Jonah! My goodness, it has been years. How are you, you old wardog? That's wonderful. And John, how's he? Oh, that's simply marvellous. What am I up to? Oh, just a supply trip with my students. Of course you knew that. You wouldn't be New York's best newspaper man if you didn't. An interview? Perhaps. I'll have to ask my students. All right. You'll have to give me a few minutes. All right. I'll talk to you later."

"That wasn't J. Jonah Jameson, was it?" Bobby asked.

"Do you know any other newspapermen in New York named Jonah?" the professor asked rhetorically as he texted out the message to his other students. "Come along Robert. We shall meet the others by the car." And he and Bobby rolled off to do just that.

* * *

Scott wondered, not for the first time, which god he had pissed off to get stuck with Warren Worthington III. It wasn't that Warren was a bad person, far from it. No, the blond, blue-eyed pretty boy from Boston was courageous, friendly, sensitive and overall a genuinely nice guy.

Which, right now, made him more irritating than if he had been as spoiled a brat as any of the Trump children.

"I'm worried about Jean," Warren said as they walked down to Disco-o-Rama, one of Greenwich Village's record stores.

"Oh?" Scott asked as innocently as he could, even as he fought to keep a sure of jealousy down. He knew it was irrational, hell he barely even knew Jean! And yet, the very idea of Warren talking to her, or interacting with her in any way made his skin crawl.

"Oh," Warren said shortly. "And don't bullshit me, either, Scott. You're worried about her, too."

"I am not," Scott protested, a little surprised at both Warren's accusation and the vehemence behind it.

" _God_ -damnit Scott," Warren swore. He stopped suddenly and cut across Scott so that the two boys were staring each directly in the face. "There are two people in this world you cannot bullshit Scott: me, and Pietro Maximoff. I know Jean worries you about as much as she worries me. Maybe even more."

"She's on my mind a lot," Scott admitted. "But I don't think she worries me, exactly."

"Really?" Warren asked, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in an expression of mocking disbelief.

"Really," Scott answered. Seeing that Warren's eyebrow would not go down, he sighed and asked: "All right, Warren. What is it exactly that worries you about Jean? The fact that you're no longer the prettiest student?"

"Holy crap, did you just tell a joke?" Warren said in surprise. "Well, maybe I shouldn't be worried. I mean if Jean's being here means you've finally developed a sense of humour..."

"You brought the subject up, smart-mouth," Scott replied. "Now, if you're quite finished...?"

"I'm not," Warren said, suddenly serious again. "She's still the weakest of us, Scott. For one thing."

Scott looked around at the crowded New York City street, watching all the passers-by march on their way to the eternal drudgery of the working life. Satisfied that nobody else was paying undue attention to the two boys, Scott replied: "Warren, she's only been with us for, what? A month? Not even that. I've been training since the professor took me in when I was nine, and the rest of you have all been here for years, too. Of course, she's going to be the weakest of us. And she did all right in that fight earlier, didn't she?"

"I suppose," Warren agreed begrudgingly. "But what if we come up against something she can't handle? We can't cover her and ourselves, too!"

"Warren," Scott said patiently. "If we come up against a threat Jean can't handle, chances are pretty good that the rest of us won't be able to handle it, either. And we'll all be dead."

"That is literally the exact opposite of comforting," Warren pointed out. Scott just shrugged.

"Warren, if you didn't know what you were getting into in the first place, then you are a total idiot," Scott said. "We're supposed to be, you know," again Scott looked around and even though there was no one paying attention to the two boys, he still dropped his voice down to a whisper and leaned in close to Warren, " _superheroes_. We're gonna get hurt. And we're probably going to get hurt a lot."

"Scott, buddy, you seriously need to work on your reassuring people skills," Warren said severely. "Because that was the worse speech I've ever heard. Look, aren't you worried about Jean at all?"

"Sure," Scott admitted. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not any more worried about her than I am the rest of us. We're going up against _Magneto_ , Warren. You didn't get the chance to know him, but I sure did. He's the most powerful mutant out there, except maybe the professor, and if he decides to kill us there's not an awful lot we're going to be able to do about it. All we can do is keep our heads up and try our best to stop him.”

"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine," Warren muttered bitterly.

"I'm not saying he will kill us," Scott said hurriedly. "But I want you to know what the stakes are, Warren. Magneto's not the sanest guy around, and he is insanely powerful. Trust me, Jean's not in any more danger than the rest of us."

"I guess," Warren said as he turned down the street towards Disc-O-Rama. "I just don't like the idea of Jean getting hurt," he added.

"I'm with you there," Scott agreed as he followed Warren down the street. "I just don't think she's more likely to get hurt than you or I."

"Yeah," Warren said, his head bowed. Then he stopped and his head rose sharply, as though a sudden thought had come to him. "Wait a second. You said Jean was in your thoughts a lot. Whaddya mean by that?"

Vividly, Scotty had a flashback to a dream he'd had the night before. A dream about Jean that he had no intention of sharing with Warren. "Oh, you know," he said. "The usual. Training practices, what she did well, what we need to work on. Stuff like that."

"Yeah, uh-huh," Warren said, his tone heavy with scepticism. "Sure. You mean you've got the hots for her!"

This, this is why Scott hated Warren. He was too damn perceptive for his own good. "That's ridiculous," Scott snapped. "She's a teammate and a fellow student, that's all. Besides," Scott continued, as tried to desperately to maintain some sort of dignity, "a team leader can't date somebody on their team. That's fraternization."

"Yeah, it would be... if we were a military outfit," Warren pointed out. "Which we're not. We're a bunch of geeky students running around in our long underwear trying to stop a megalomaniac from killing all of the humanity. That's a little different. The least you could do is cut yourself a little fun-time."

"I told you, it's not like that," Scott snapped.

"Yeah, you told me," Warren replied. "That's not the same thing as saying I believe you."

"Warren..." Scott said warningly, but just then his phone went off.

"What is it?" Warren asked.

"It's the professor," Scott said, staring down at his phone. "It looks like he wants you to meet back up with him Christopher Park."

"Already? We didn't even get to the record store," Warren said.

"Well, if we hadn't been arguing about Jean the whole time," Scott replied as he put away his phone, "maybe we would have."

"Scotty, old boy, I think arguing about Jean is something you and are going to do a lot of over the next little while," Warren said as he looped his arm around Scott's shoulder and the two boys turned to go back the way they came.

 

Scott was sure Warren was right. And he was equally sure that he really, really didn't want Warren to be right.

* * *

Hank was enjoying a leisurely stroll down the brightly lit New York sidewalk, basking in the sunshine after the hard work stopping those ruffians early in the afternoon.

 _I think I'm going to enjoy this 'superhero' business_ , he thought to himself as he made through the hustling mob down to one of his favourite electronic stores. He was in no hurry; when the professor let his students out on their own for the day, he meant it. So long as Hank did not get into any undue amounts of trouble, he was free to spend the afternoon in any way that he saw fit. And what Hank saw fit to do was to get lost in the wide, wonderful world of engineering.

Hank McCoy was a man of many talents and varied interests. He enjoyed, as might be expected from his build, a good rousing game of football, though he disliked having to sit through watching a game. Much more fun was to actually play, to contest one's mind and body against the skills and abilities of other players. He enjoyed, too, fine dining and poetry and classical literature, intellectual pursuits that had left his middle-class parents from out in Michigan a little perplexed, but that they had nevertheless supported him through. He enjoyed, too, the long and intricate debates about history that the professor and Bobby inevitably drew him in to, and he had also taken an interest in sociology as of late if only to keep up with Bobby when he talked about 'social constructs' and 'hierarchies of oppression.' Hank doubted he'd ever understand the soft, subtle sciences as well as his friend, but he nevertheless enjoyed the challenge of wrapping his mind around new ideas and concepts.

But there was one thing, and one thing above all that Hank enjoyed, and that was science.

Specifically, the hard sciences. Engineering. Physics. Biology and genetics. Astronomy and chemistry. The more complicated, the more difficult the subject matter, the better as far as Hank was concerned. His room in the Xavier estate was an overcrowded laboratory, filled to the brim with experiments, computers and oddball inventions. He thrilled to the adventures of his heroes, like Tony Stark, Lex Luthor, Reed Richards and Janet van Dyne-Pym. He was, in particular, dreadfully curious about the upcoming space trip that Dr Richards and his team were about to embark on. Going to exam an as-yet-unidentified cloud of cosmic radiation? In person? Hank could only dream of such adventures.

For today, though, Hank had much more modest dreams. He had spent the last few weeks working out ways to automate the Danger Room, providing new and hopefully more effective challenges for his teammates. But in order to do that, he would need to prototype his inventions first. And in order to do some proper prototyping, Hank would need some equipment from the local electronic and hobby shop.

So busy was Hank designing and re-designing the Danger Room in his head that he failed to notice the large crowd that had gathered outside the electronics store until he quite literally bumped into one of them.

"I'm so sorry my dear, let me help you up," Hank said, reaching down to the fallen woman that he had inadvertently sent tumbling to the ground.

"Thank you," the woman said. She was dressed in a conservative but otherwise nondescript suit with a long skirt. In her hands was a large sign that Hank couldn't quite make out.

In point of fact, there was a lot of people gathered there with signs. Hank looked around in some surprise; he had not thought this a particularly political area of the Village, and indeed the locals had always been rather polite and easy-going when he came around. For New Yorkers, anyway.

"I seem to have stumbled into the middle of a demonstration," he said to the woman he had knocked over. "Might I ask what it's about?"

"These fucking liberals," she snarled and waved the sign that she carried around so that Hank could finally get a good look at it. Hank's heart sank, and he bitterly wished that he had knocked the woman down even harder, for the sign contained vicious homophobic sentiments that Hank was ashamed to even have read.

"They killed him, you know," the woman continued. "That bitch Hillary and her toadies. Sold us all out to the Muslim terrorists."

"Pardon me for my ignorance, ma'am," Hank replied, "but how do you come to such a conclusion? The FBI has been over Mr Trump's death with a fine tooth comb; there was no evidence of foul play. The man was seventy-years old, after all, and had not taken the best care of himself in years.  I realize that having your prefered candidate die in the middle of an election would be most heartbreaking, but that is no reason to suspect foul play."

"Don't listen to those fake news sites like New York Times or the Bugle," the woman snapped. "Trump was killed, plain and simple. How else do you explain Hillary being alive?"

"Luck," Hank said simply. "And if I were you, I would not worry too much about Hillary's continued longevity. She's not exactly a vernal equinox biddy herself."

"A what?" the woman asked.

"A spring chicken, in the vernacular."

"Oh," the woman said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You're one of those East Coast liberal-types, aren't you?"

"Far be it from me to point out the irony of a woman in New York, with such a clear Bronx accent, accuse someone else of being an 'East Coast liberal'," Hank said dryly, "but I am in fact from the Midwest. Michigan, to be precise."

"Did they kick you out because you use too many big words?" the woman asked, her lips twisting into a sardonic smirk as she did so.

"Madam! I am shocked, shocked that you could read my neighbour's minds so easily," Hank said. "Though it was less of 'kicking me out' and more of a relocation to a place where my verbose talents could be appreciated."

"Oh? And what preppy school did they put you in?" the woman asked.

"Given that you are targeting an entirely innocent electronics shop for a trumped-up claim about Donald Trump, you'll understand my reticence in naming my alma mater," Hank replied.

"Listen here, buster. We're just defending our rights..." the woman snarled, but Hank cut her off.

"What rights?" Hank took a step back and pitched his voice higher to reach the whole crowd. "I ask you, what rights? What possible rights could this small store, selling nought but electronics and mechanical items to hobbyists such as myself have ever denied you? The right to free assembly? To free speech? To freely practice your religion? Protest the all too often phoney intellectualism of the left if you must, indeed I encourage you to do so. But do not take it out on such a small venue as this. It demeans both you and the cause you so ardently fight for. Please, I implore you. Let these noble merchants carry on their business and go protest those who are in actual places of power."

There was a second where the crowd digested Hank's word. Hank puffed his chest out a little, believing himself to have succeeded in calming down the crowd. A happy delusion that was shattered almost instantly as the crowd shouted:

"GET HIM!"

Hank scowled in disappointment for a second before taking off as fast as he could back down the New York streets. The crowd kept up with him for a good while through the various twists and turns of the city streets, but Hank finally ditched them long enough to climb up on the roof of one of New York's many skyscrapers. Hank shook his head in disbelief at the crowd's antics as they milled about below him, eagerly seeking some demented form of justice Hank could not comprehend.

"Oh Lord, what fools these mortals be," Hank muttered to himself with a wry grin. Oh well. Maybe now that he had drawn the crowds away, he could wander back to the electronics shop and grab the materials he had been after? Just then, his cell phone rang.

"Oh bother," Hank said as he pulled out his cell out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a text from the professor, asking all the X-Men to meet back up at Christopher Park. Sighing deeply, Hank got up and prepared to make his way back to the park. First, he checked down to see if the crowd was still there, and seeing that they were, Hank decided that maybe he would keep to the rooftops instead of trying to make it on foot. Certainly, Spider-Man wouldn't begrudge the company? Sighing once again, Hank tied his shoes around his neck and started the long journey back.

***

END CHAPTER

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> I’d forgotten how long this chapter was. I didn’t change much here, just some grammar stuff. See you next time!
> 
> ***
> 
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby. The Amazing Spider-Man created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Steve Ditko.
> 
> ***
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	8. Enter The Amazing Spider-Man! Part 3

The Uncanny X-Men: Chapter 7-Enter The Amazing Spider-Man! Part 3

Jean hurried back to Christopher Park from the bookstore, the heavy bag of books that she'd bought bouncing against her rear end. She didn't have time to adjust it, though: Professor Xavier's text message had sounded urgent.

Jean Grey was a student at Professor Charles Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, a private boarding school out in North Salem, New York. Very private. That was because the only students admitted to Westchester academy were mutants, a new and powerful breed of human. And, like its students, the academy was also new. It had just four students, besides Jean: Scott Summers, the professor's very first student and adopted son; Warren Worthington III, a Boston Brahmin if ever there was one; Henry "Hank" McCoy, technological uber-genius; Robert "Bobby" Drake, an almost stereotypically male teenager. Jean was the newest of the students. Their headmaster, Professor Charles Xavier, was also a mutant.

Jean had always considered herself an ordinary teenage girl. She was a little taller than most women at around five and half feet with a build that was neither flat nor curvy. Jean liked to call her build an athlete's build. The kinder bullies at each of her previous schools refered to it as 'generic'. The nastier terms don't bear repeating. She had shoulder-lenght that she liked to wear long and unbound and her favourite colour was blue. Her skin was paler than norm but not full on vampire pale, unlike some members of her family. All-in-all, a perfectly average, if somewhat sheltered, teenage girl.

If you didn't count the repeated and 'mysterious' instances of some part of her school blowing up, that was. In her previous school, it had been the gym. In the one before that, it had been the girls bathroom. And most of the cafeteria. And the lockers. The point was that Jean was usually right at the epicenter of these events and naturally got blamed for them. Jean naturally resented these accusations, for she had now idea how stuff kept blowing up around her. It wasn't until the very last incident, the one in the gym, that Jean had found out she was a mutant. Specifically, a telepath. Apparently, Professor Xavier had heard all about Jean's 'episodes' and, putting two and two together, figured out she was a mutant. It wasn't much of stretch for the professor to track Jean down and contact her parents; both the Grey's and the Xaviers moved in the same blue-blooded circles. Once Xavier had contacted the Greys, he soon offered Jean a place in his school which Jean gratefully accepted.

At first, Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters hand seemed like any other school designed around helping people with different abilities might. There were the usual course like science and history, and in the afternoons the students worked on honing their individual powers. Jean, as the newest of the group, had struggled the most with her newfound abilities. Though she had been capable of destroying large sections of various private schools with her powers unconsciously, consciously she couldn't lift much more than a heavy rope. And that was after weeks and weeks of training. It was frustrating, to say the least.

However, a few short weeks into Jean's life at the school, there came a sudden urgency to their training. At a field trip to a military base, Xavier's students had clashed with the Brotherhood of Mutants. Lead by the professor's ex, Erik Lensherr, they were a crew of mutants that were fed up with society's treatment of the different and the extradorinary. Now calling himself Magneto, Erik had commanded the Brotherhood, under his field leader and biological son Pietro 'Quicksilver' Maximoff, to attack the military base and steal... something. Neither Xavier nor his students were sure of just what, yet. Jean herself had faced off against Pietro's younger sister, Wanda 'Scarlet Witch' Maximoff and had allowed the other woman to go without a fight. Jean still wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do.

At any rate, the attack on the military base had caused Scott and the professor to revive an old idea of the Xavier and Magneto's: The X-Men, an elite team of mutants who could protect those who couldn't protect themselves. With Hank's technological genius and Jean's eye for fashion, they had managed to create blue and yellow uniforms that were light-weight and yet offered at least some kind of protection. And the training had intensified. Now they weren't just learning how to use their powers safely, but also how to fight with them. And Jean was still lagging behind.

Recently, all that effort had been given a field test. On a field trip to New York City, they encountered the Amazing Spider-Man, a webslinging teenager from Queens who had also taken up the heroic mantle. Though the X-Men were disappointed to find that the wall-crawler was not a mutant himself, they had nevertheless aided their newfound ally in pitched battle against the forces of the Kingpin of Crime. Despite it being the team's first battle, and Jean's continuing issues with her powers, the six heroes had acquitted themselves well in the battle and had defeated the criminals before they could do much harm.

Not that the citizens of New York seem to notice. Even as Jean sped past them on her way to Christopher Park, she could overhear New Yorkers grousing about the battle. Some of the not only blamed Spider-Man and the X-Men for the fight, but also cheered the gangsters on! Jean wanted to turn around and educate these ungrateful humans about what really happened, but she didn't have the time. And, maybe more importantly, she didn't want to know what would happen if somebody got clever and figured out that she was one of the X-Men. She had a sinking feeling that that would not end well.

 

At last, Jean reached Christopher Park. Up ahead, she could see Bobby and the professor standing near the professor's parked car. Jean slowed to a walk and straightened her dark-blue skirt. Then she brushed the hair out of her eyes and walked up to the two men.

"Ah! Here she is," Professor Xavier said as Jean walked up. As Charles Xavier was the most powerful telepath in the world, Jean assumed that he had sensed her coming from quite some distance away and was only calling out to her now because that would draw the least amount of suspicion.

"First one back," Bobby Drake said. "What did ya do, fly?" Bobby was the youngest of the X-Men at sixteen. He had short blond hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in t-shirt with a logo from some band that Jean had never heard off and tan shorts. His power was the ability to create ice and snow, hence the nickname 'Iceman.'

"No, that's Warren's trick," Jean said. "I just wasn't that far away when I got the call. Where's everybody else?"

"They should be along shortly," the professor said. "Ah, here comes Scott and Warren now."

Jean turned to see the two boys jostle their way through the day-time New York crowd. They were about the same age, but were very different physically. Warren was _gorgeous_ ; he had piercing blue eyes, golden hair and a face that looked like it had been carved by some ancient Roman master out of marble. He was broad-shouldered, to accomodate the large feathery wings that were hidden by his casual-yet-probably-cost-more-than-a-new-car navy blue suit. Brown loafers with no socks completed the outfit. His codename was 'Angel' and he was the flyer of the X-Men and second-in-command in the field.

 

Scott on the other hand was much smaller, with a leaner, more average build. He had perfectly parted brown that sat atop a ruggedly square face, easily his most handsome feature. Dark red sunglasses, made out of ruby-quartz, shielded the rest of the world from his all-destroying optic eye blasts. They also had the unfortunate effect of giving him an arrogant cast to his features, which Jean had to admit wasn't always deserved. He dressed in much more humble brown suit over a green vest with tie and brown slacks. Brown shoes, complete with white socks, completed his look. His codename was 'Cyclops' and he was the X-Men's field leader.

Scott frustrated Jean. On the one hand, she had to admit that he was handsome in his own particular way. And he was a good team lead. But he was also closed off and hard to get to know. Not like Warren.

"We got your message, professor," Scott said. "What's the problem?"

"Hi Jean," Warren said, just a little more pointedly than Jean would have liked, "how are you?"

"I'm good, thanks," Jean said. She wondered what Warren was playing at.

"And the chopped liver of this crew says hi, too," Bobby said as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Sorry, Bobby," Scott said. But Jean guessed that he wasn't that sorry, because Scott promptly turned back to the professor and asked again:

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing Scott, nothing," Professor Xavier said soothingly to his adopted son. "I just had an interesting phone call from an old friend. But I think we should wait for Hank to join us before we discuss this any further. Ah! Hear he comes now."

Jean turned back to look down the street and did indeed see the unmistakeable form of Henry "Hank" McCoy. Hank was a giant among men, far larger than the sidewalk up which he walked. He was constantly, if slightly, hunched over, reducing his total height but increasing his resemblance to a hairless gorilla. He had a squat head with no neck and a small broad nose that sat high on his face. His eyes were large and dark. He had blue-black hairt that was cut short. Hank wore a black t-shirt emblazoned with some obscure engineering logo and matching shorts. His codename was 'Beast' for obvious reasons, though it belied a gifted mind. His mutant powers, besides the general build of a gorilla, were enhanced senses, superior agility and strength. Perhaps the least flashy of all of the X-Men's powers, but still dangerous in their own right.

"My apologies for taking so long, the pedestrian traffic in this city is simply murder," Hank said once he had reached the group.

"'S all right big guy," Bobby said. "Most of these goobers only got here themselves."

"Your way with words never ceases to astound me, Robert," Hank said. "Tell me, how many people did you have to ask for help before you could read the dictionary that gave you so pedestrian an insult?"

"Only two or three," Bobby replied cheerfully. "After I got through with asking all the other people who couldn't read, of course."

"Oh, but of course," Hank agreed. Jean snorted.

"If you two are quite finished?" Scott said.

"Sorry fearless leader," Bobby said as he snapped his arm up in salute. "Won't happen again, sir! Promise!" Jean giggled. Warren had a little more decorum; he hid his laughter behind his hand. Scott just sighed and slumped his shoulders for a second.

"Now that we're all here," the professor said, almost as if he was ignoring the banter between his young students, "I will discuss what caused me to recall you from your personal errands. A short time ago, one of my oldest and closest friends, J. Jonah Jameson called me. He would like to interview me."

"On what?" Scott said. His face had taken on a suspicious cast. Jean decided instantly that she didn't like to that kind of look on Scott. It completely ruined what made him attractive in the first place. What, since when did she think Scott was attractive?

"He did not say," Xavier admitted.

"Bad sign," Scott said.

"Ah, come on Scott," Warren complained. "Jonah's been a respected newspaperman since before most of us were born. He helped take down Trump for Christ's sake! You really think he's up to no good?"

"I think I don't know Jameson's up too," Scott replied. "And neither does the professor. Just because he helped take down Donald Trump doesn't mean he's friendly to us. Or that he won't put his news business ahead of whatever friendship he and the professor have. If he's got a story, what's going to stop him from running it?"

"He helped break up all those Neo-Nazi organizations that were running around during Trump's campaign, too," Bobby pointed out. Hank chuckled.

"Single-handedly no less!" he said. "Charging into at least two riots, armed with nothing but his bare fists and singlehandedly subduing the Nazi's before the police arrive. At least if you believe what his supporters have reported. However, I think Scott has a point. J. Jonah Jameson has a reputation for ruthlessness and putting the facts ahead of everything, from relationships to his own good health. Can we trust him?"

"The professor trusts him," Warren said.

"I admit, Scott's concerns had occurred to me," Xavier said. "Which is why I wished to discuss it with all of you before I committed us to anything."

"Which brings us back to square one," Scott said. "Can we trust Jameson?"

"Yes," Warren insisted.

"Why? Because he's old money?" Scott demanded.

"Why you little-" Warren said. He started to close in on Scott, arms raised. Scott held his ground, jutting his chin out in an act of defiance against the taller Angel.

"Stop!" Jean said as she walked in between the two boys, her ams held out to separate the two. "Beating the crap out of each other isn't going to get us anywhere."

"And here I thought every girl liked to watch a little guy-on-guy," Bobby joked. Jean shot him the most murderous glare she could muster and then turned back to Scott and Warren.

"Listen to me," she said. "You both have a point. Jonah has a reputation for honesty and integrity and that's great. But it cuts both ways. He can't let us walk away if he thinks we're a real threat. At the same time, Jameson is probably going to be the first person to give us a fair shake. Maybe even help us! But we can't do anything if you two are brawling in the streets! So get your act together and act like men!"

"Yes mom," Warren said cheekily. Jean suppressed a sharp desire to kick him in the shins.

"Jean has a point," Scott admitted. "If we do go to Jameson and we can convince him that we're not all evil, he could be a powerful friend in our corner when the time comes. Okay," Scott nodded firmly as though he'd made a decision. As it turns out, he had. "My vote is to go to the interview with Jameson."

"That makes two," Warren said with a nod. "I knew you'd see reason, Scott." What Jean saw was that her mother was right: men didn't become adults until they were thirty-five. Possibly later.

"And Bobby makes three," Bobby said, cracking what Jean had to consider was both the lamest and most subtle pun she'd ever heard.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I suppose," Hank said with a sigh. "I still think we are taking an awful risk, but I vote in the affirmative as well."

"Jean?" Scott prompted.

"Oh, I'm in," she said. "But I'm sitting between you and Warren. At least until you two can behave yourselves."

"Typically, the bun goes on the sausages, not in between," Bobby said blandly. The professor face palmed. Hank burst into a fit of giggles. Both Scott and Warren turned as red as one of Scott's eye blasts and they shot furious looks at Bobby. Jean knew that something was going over her head, but wasn't sure what.

"Now that that's settled," Professor Xavier said with the distinct air of somebody desperately trying to change an uncomfortable subject, "I suggest we get a move on. Scott? Robert? If you would be so kind?" The two boys helped Professor Xavier back into his car, while Jean directed the other two boys into the backseat, a firm and imperious look she had learned from her mother firmly set on her face. Hank would sit at the far end with Warren beside him. Than Jean clambered into the middle seat. Scott got in beside her while Bobby sat in the front. Bobby took one look at the back seat via the rearview mirror and burst into a shit-eating grin.

 

Once she got the time, Jean would have to ask Bobby just what was so funny. For the moment, though, the professor had started to pull away from the curb and there were more important things to attend too.

 

* * *

 

The Daily Bugle was located was located at the Flatiron Building at 175 5th Ave, a roughly six minute drive from Christopher Park, if you went up by 6th Ave and traffic cooperated. Traffic did not cooperate.

"We should have walked," Bobby said as they finally got out of the car nearly twenty minutes later. "It would've been faster."

"Not quite," Hank disagreed. "Although it would have been very close."

"The fault is mine," Xavier said after Jean and Scott had helped him out of the car and into his wheelchair. "I had forgotten just how close the Flatiron building was and thought perhaps that you all could use a rest from the other walking you had done today. I certainly never counted on traffic to be this bad."

"It's all right Professor," Jean said. "It's probably a better idea to move the car here anyway. Given how bad traffic has gotten even in the last few hours, I wouldn't want to have to walk back to Christopher Park and then drive home!"

"Jean's right," Warren said. "Besides, it's not like it was a great hardship, sitting there all pressed up against Jeannie." He winked at her and Jean blushed, for she suddenly understood some of his comments over the past few hours. Bobby's wisecracks still flew over her head.

"Speak for yourself, Romeo," Scott muttered. Unfortunately for him, Jean overheard.

"Oh? So you don't like sitting next to me, is that it Scott?" Jean demanded. The implications stung more than she would have expected, given that she and Scott weren't close.

"No! That's not what I meant. I--" Scott stammered out, desperately trying to defend himself. Fortunately for him, Hank intervened at that point.

"Children, and I do apologize to any youths that were offended by the patently unfair comparison," he said firmly, "it is time to stop this bickering and move on. We have an appointment to keep." Jean smirked gently. Hank had probably found the car ride the least comfortable out of all the X-Men, crammed as he was into the far side of the car and forced to endure the glares and generally uncomfortable silence that had occurred between Jean, Scott and Warren.

"Indeed," Xavier said. Scott got behind the professor's wheelchair and began to push Xavier in towards the door. The others followed suit.

Jean had been in the Flatiron build before and it had not changed much since her last visit. If anything, the decor had gotten uglier and even more soulless. The professor checked them all in with security, who gave them passes and directed the group towards a bank of elevators. The X-Men took the first one available and rode it all the way to the top, the main office of the Daily Bugle. At the top, the X-Men disembarked and walked through the carpeted hallway to a wooden door with a frosted glass window. On the window the words 'Daily Bugle' were emblazoned in fading gold paint. Scott opened the door and the  X-Men stepped through.

The offices of the Daily Bugle had not changed in the decades since the newspaper was founded. Wooden cubicles filled the space on the floor, crammed as they were with overflowing papers, reporters, and the occasional bit of modern technology like computers. At the back were offices with actual doors, made out of the same wood. Reporters and office assistants weaved their way through the maze with practiced ease, never jostling or disturbing each other. Other people that occupied the office, including police officers and what Jean assumed were informants, had much less luck. More than once, a report or office assistant had to physically lift the offending outsider out of the way just to get past. And standing in the middle of all this organized chaos, holding court like some ancient Roman senator, was J. Jonah Jameson himself.

  1. Jonah Jameson (nobody knew what the J. stood for, popular assumption was that it was John after his father) was a New York institution, even more so than the paper he ruled over as tyrant. Born to the wealthy New York family that had founded the Daily Bugle in the first place, Jonah had turned his back on his life of wealth and privilege, signing on with the rival New York Times as a cub reporter under an assumed name. The attempt to hide his identity had not fooled the Times, who had given him a number of safe beats such as baseball. Dissatisfied with this boring life, Jonah decided to go free-lance and smuggled his way, along with another legendary reporter, Perry White, into Afghanistan, where he was among the first people in the west to acknowledge the Soviet atrocities there. From there on, Jonah reported on every manner of international event, crossing paths and blades with some of the most infamous monsters in international history. His family disowned him, twice.



Eventually, though, the elder Jameson’s died and Jonah was forced to come home and take over the family paper. Most people thought that running a newspaper would force Jonah to act with a cooler head and get into less trouble. Never would so many people be so wrong.

Jonah kept up his crusading ways, fighting gangsters, corrupt politicians and dirty cops. Sometimes literally. At one point, a collection of New York police officers came to arrest several of his reporters on blatantly trumped up charges. Jonah protested. Peacefully at first, but when the officers continued to press the issue, he fought them. All at once. And the cops, it must be noted, lost. A few hours later, legend had it, Jonah arrived at the local precinct with the officers in tow, claiming that he had arrested them in a citizen's arrest. The NYPD blatantly denied the rumour and Jonah never confirmed it either way, but he did nothing to quash the rumour either.

Noam Chomsky, after an interview with Jonah, described him as 'democracy's greatest fanatic.' Seeing him in person, Jean thought Noam may have been understating things just a bit. Jonah was a tall man, around six feet or so, and broad shouldered. His hair was gunmetal grey with white temples and cut into a flat top. He wore black pants with suspenders over striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing bulging muscles. He was chomping on an unlit cigar and over his mouth was an honest-to-goodness toothbrush mustache. His brown eyes were hard as flint, and he walked around with a permanent scowl.

"Xavier!" he barked once he saw the X-Men walk into the office. "You're late!"

"We could have been five hours early, Jonah, and you'd still think us late," Xavier said gently.

"Damn right!" Jonah said. "And where the hell is Parker? Spider-Man gets into a fight with some thugs, I want pictures! Video!"

"Here, sir," a timid voice called out from the chaos. Jean looked around to see a young man, younger than Bobby, poke his head out of the crowd. He was slight in build, and not very tall to begin with. He had short brown hair and big brown eyes that were as soft as ice cream. He wore a red t-shirt that hung out over his tan pants. He waved a small camera over his head. Jean distinctly didn't recognize him from the crowd that had gathered at the fight.

"Good!" Jonah barked again. "I want the whole video uploaded in the hour! Unedited and with your commentary. I'll doing my own later."

"Yes sir," Parker said. "I'm working on it now, sir. I just need to finish recording my commentary and it will be up in five minutes or so."

 

"Excellent! That's just what I want to hear!" Jonah said. "Look around you worthless layabouts! See what initiative means! One Peter Parker is worth fifty of all you!" Jean had to choke back a giggle at just how red Peter Parker's face went from Jonah's praise. The rest of the staff seemed to ignore their boss’s pronouncement, except for somebody who said in the most deadpan tone possible:

"Go Pete!"

"Brant!" Jonah barked.

"Boss?" said that same deadpan voice.

"You want to be a reporter don't you?" Jonah said. It didn't sound much like a question, more like an order.

"More than life itself," came the deadpan reply.

"Into my office! You can type up the notes while I interview Xavier. Xavier! No, stay there. I'll get you. Your students can wait outside." And Jonah did exactly that: he came over and grabbed Xavier's wheelchair, shoving Scott out of the way. Scott glared at the older man from behind his glasses.

"Ned! Ben!" Jonah shouted as he wheeled the professor down the aisle towards his office.

"Boss?" came the twin shouts. Unlike the previous deadpan replies, Jean could see where these two came from. Way at the back of the office were two men. One was tall and lean, a track and field star in another life. He had salt and pepper hair. Horn-rimmed glasses sat perched on a long thin nose. His eyes were sunken but keen. The kind that saw everything and told you nothing. A cigarette dangled out of his lipless mouth. He wore a striped shirt and suspenders over tan pants. A beige trench coat hang over his cubicle.

 

His partner was an almost deliberate contrast. Broad where the former was lean, short where tall, and dark where his partner was pale, he had a bull dog neck and was dressed in much more casual clothing. His eyes, though narrower than his partners, had a strange wide-eyed quality to them, like you could trust him with anything. A real All-American jock. Jean had thought the breed dead back in the fifties.

"You say you got a story on the Kingpin?" Jonah barked.

"Maybe," the pale one said, barely moving his lips. "Got some leads, anyway."

"Either get me a story, Ben or find a different place to work!" Jonah snapped.

"You can't fire me, boss," Ben said with a ghost of a smile hovering about his lips. "You can't fire any of us. There isn't anybody else crazy enough to work with you."

"Ha!" Jonah said and disappeared behind the wooden door at the far end of the office. Rising out of one of the cubicles, a woman followed him. She was a pretty enough woman, Jean decided. She had long brown hair that was cut in a tight stylish bob. She wore a dark blue suit with a skirt that rose up just enough to show off her well-toned legs but without ever being considered non-professional. She closed the door behind her and the X-Men were left to their own devices.

"All right, what do we do now?" Bobby asked.

"Did anybody else catch what Jonah said about that Parker kid?" Scott asked in response.

"I did," Jean said.

"Sorry, what?" Warren asked blankly.

"I do remember Mr. Jameson's praise of young Mr. Parker, but I'm afraid that I fail to see the significance of the exchange," Hank admitted.

"I'm with the big guy," Bobby said. "So the Bugle's got a photog covering Spidey. So what? It'd be weird if they didn't."

"Yeah, except I don't remember seeing a guy that looked anything like that Parker kid at the fight," Jean said. She took a quick look around at the office, but its inhabitants were too busy with their own work to notice a group of five teenagers. "And we were there," she said. Even still, Jean didn't feel like giving away too much in an newsroom. Suddenly all of Scott's worries seemed a lot more reasonable than they had back at Christopher Park.

The other X-Men all looked at each other nervously. Jean could see that for Warren and Bobby, at least, Scott's fears had also become a lot more real to them too.

"You don't think--" Warren began, but Bobby cut him off.

"Parker, Parker. Yeah, I know the kid. Of him, anyway. He apparently runs Spider-Man's YouTube channel, on Spidey's behalf. The Bugle bought him out ages ago. Apparently Spider-Man doesn't much care for running his own show, and just lets Peter take care of it. He shows up now and again to collect the money Peter's made for him and goes off again."

"I believe I quote the great Elim Garak when I say: 'I believe in coincidences. Coincidences happen every day. But I don't trust coincidences.'" Hank said.

"I know what you mean," Jean said. "That explanation is as flimsy as tissue paper."

"Do you think Jameson knows?" Warren said.

"We don't know anything," Scott reminded them. "All we've got is a weird situation and some odd coincidences. Sometimes things like that do happen. So, here's what we're going to do. Bobby, Jean: you're going to go talk to Peter. Don't let him know you're on to him or suspect anything. Just try and get to know him."

 

"Only person here our age," Bobby said. "Makes sense we'd reach out to him."

"And I can't go with Jean because?" Warren said.

"Because I've got something else for you," Scott said. "You're filthy stinking rich, right?"

"Ignoring the aspersions on my personal hygiene," Warren said, "yes. What's your point?"

"My point is I still don't know what Jameson is up too," Scott pointed out. "And I don't quite trust Jameson. But I figure a fellow blue blood might be able to find out. Especially if he's a scion of a dynasty out to escape from his family's shadow, you understand?"

"Perfectly," Warren said, an evil grin forming on his face.

"Good," Scott said. "Hank, you're with me."

"Might I ask why?" Hank said.

"I want to talk to those two over there," Scott said. "I recognize them. They're Ned Lee and Ben Urich, two of Jameson's top reporters. And Ben was definitely there at the fight today."

"You know, there is such a thing as taking paranoia too far," Warren, throwing a scowl at Scott as he did so. "Not everything has to be tied into a conspiracy, you know?"

"I know," Scott agreed. "But I still want to know what the Kingpin was up too. That whole scene had 'trap' written all over it, don't you think?"

"Now that you mention it," Warren admitted.

"So, I want to see if we can't find out what Urich and Lee know," Scott said. "All right, get to it team. I want this done before the professor gets back."

With that, the X-Men split off to their individual assignments.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean and Bobby made their way to a cubicle that was both smaller than the others and tucked way in the back. Jean couldn't decide if its size or location was the punishment. Or maby that was the only space they had?

At any rate, Bobby and Jean soon reached the cubicle that was marked 'Peter Parker'. In it sat the small timid boy from before. And also the very very buxom black woman from the fight in the crowd. The woman looked up and saw Bobby and Jean approach before Peter did.

"Hi!" she said. "Gloria Grant, office assistant. Was there something I could help you with?"

"Um, hi," Jean said. "I'm Jean Grey and this is Bobby Drake. We came with Professor Xavier."

"Oh yeah?" Gloria said. She looked Jean and Bobby up down before grinning. She had a face built for smiling, Jean thought, with those full lips and bright brown eyes that matched her skin perfectly. Gloria's black hair had been left to grow out naturally, resulting in a small afro. She wore a cheetah print halter top that emphasized her generous cleavage and a matching mini-skirt that showed off her toned legs. Bobby, beside her, was doing his best not to drool. Jean wasn't far behind him, which surprised her. She never thought she was into girls; admittedly, most girls weren't as good-looking as Gloria Grant. She could see why Spider-Man had started showing off for her in the street brawl.

"And what, you wanted to see how a working news office really works?" she continued.

"Something like that," Jean said.

"We, uh, we heard that the guy who gets all those Spider-Man pics and videos was here," Bobby said. He couldn't quite take his eyes off of Gloria. "We wanted to see him."

"See, Petey?" Gloria said to the young man, her voice liquid honey. "You really are famous. It’s not just Jameson jerking your chain."

"Guess so," Peter said. He was eyeing the two X-Men with some suspicion. Jean smiled at him, hoping to reassure him that they weren't there to cause trouble. It didn't work; it just seemed to make him more suspicious than ever.

Gloria either didn't notice, or she figured that letting Peter and the X-Men talk it out was the best way to handle the situation. "I've got to get back to work, honey," she said to Peter. "You have fun with your new fans." She got up and walked away. Jean and Bobby both stared at her ass as she did so. After she had disappeared from sight, Bobby shook his head.

"Damn Parker," he said. "You are one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Luck is a funny thing," Peter replied. "You never really know if you've got it or not."

Jean gave her head a light shake to get out of her daze. She hadn't realized just how much she had been staring. "I don't know," she said slowly. "A good job, a drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend... Most people would give their right hands to be in your position, Mr. Parker."

"Would they give their fathers?" Peter said viciously as he turned back towards his computer.

"I would," Bobby said bluntly. Both Peter and Jean stared at him in shock. "Yeah, I don't like my dad," Bobby said. "There's a reason I took my uncle's last name."

"I--I didn't know that," Jean said. She immediately felt guilty and very sorry for Bobby. She felt bad for Peter, too, and decided not bring up that she had loving parents who queried their daughter everyday about her life and hadn't cut her off when they had discovered her powers. She had a feeling that it would just be taken as gloating.

"My parents died before I was born," Peter said. "I was raised by my aunt and uncle. Only my uncle died recently too. A burglary gone wrong."

 

"That," Bobby said, "is just fucking terrible. I'm sorry, man. Did they at least catch the guy who killed your uncle?"

"Spider-Man got him," Peter said, his voice rich with vicious satisfaction. "And the punk committed suicide so he didn't have to go to jail. I can say I'm terribly upset about that. But it’s been rough ever since. Aunt May, you know, she's got a good pension and she still does some part time work, but it’s not enough. So I had to get a job."

"Photographing Spider-Man," Jean said quietly.

"Yeah," Peter said. "He's been... pretty good about it, actually. Letting me take most of the cut and really only taking his expenses. I got the feeling that he lost someone important too, once."

Jean successfully suppressed a grin. At this point, she was so convinced that Peter was Spider-Man that she bet she could lift his shirt up telekinetically and would see the Spider-Man costume underneath. A quick glance at Bobby told her that he thought the same thing.

"I'm not surprised," Jean said instead. "We watched him fight those Kingpin thugs earlier today. He seemed pretty heroic."

"He's an ass," Peter said. Bobby guffawed. "Well, he is," Peter said defensively. "Just because I take the guy's pictures doesn't I have to like him."

"Nah, guess not," Bobby said with a grin that would have done Frosty the Snowman's charcoal smile proud.

"Anyway, Mr. Parker," Jean said. "We should really introduce ourselves properly. I'm Jean Grey and this is Bobby Drake. But you might know us by different names."

"I might?" Peter asked. Jean could see in his eyes, though, that he already knew where this conversation was headed.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "Seeing as we've already met twice today."

Peter looked around, as though to make sure nobody else was listening. Then he turned back towards the other two.

"Keep your voice down, okay?" he hissed. "I really can't afford for that secret to come out."

"Jameson knows," Jean said bluntly. "He's too good a reporter not too."

"He hates Spider-Man," Peter said.

"Nah," Bobby said thoughtfully, one hand on his chin. "He doesn't _hate_ Spider-Man. He just really, really likes to nitpick."

"He does that," Peter agreed with a smile.

"We're not here to hurt you," Jean said reassuringly. "Trust me, we know how valuable a secret identity can be."

"Yeah," Peter said with a significant glance directed at his computer screen. "I guess you would. So, who are you guys, anyway? Besides Xavier's students, I mean."

"We call ourselves the X-Men," Bobby said. "And we're mutants."

"Yeah, that part I remember," Peter said. "And you were in New York looking for me. Why are you guys still here?"

"It’s way too expensive to come in all the way from Westchester just to pick up a single student," Jean pointed out. "Even for a guy as loaded as the professor."

"Ain't that the truth," Peter said.

"Plus, Jameson called Xavier asking for an interview," Bobby said. "I don't suppose you'd know what that's all about?"

 

"I'd guess it's about mutants," Peter said. "I mean, that's kind of what Xavier is famous for. Discussing mutants and how the next stage of human evolution is coming or is already here. And then there's this guy Bolivar Trask."

"Never heard of him," Bobby said.

"I'm not surprised," Peter replied. "He's kind of an obscure figure, even for a techno geek like me. He runs Trask Industries. They're a robotics firm. Major, major leaguers in the field, but very quiet. They don't advertise much and they don't exactly get involved in politics. Officially."

"Government contractors," Bobby said grimly. Jean looked at him in surprise, but on further reflection it made sense. A still profitable company that didn't advertise? That didn't make sense unless they got their funding from elsewhere, and where else but the government?

"That's what we all figure, too," Peter said. "We being Jameson, Robbie, Betty, Glory, Ben and Ned."

"Joe Robertson, you mean?" Jean asked.

"Yeah, Jonah's better half," Peter said. "Anyway, Trask is an anthropologist by education, not a roboticist. And he's started releasing a series of articles about the 'mutant menace.'"

"Oh, that's not good," Bobby said.

"There's an understatement," Jean said. "Do you think that Jameson called the professor here to offer a rebuttal?"

"That'd be my guess," Peter said. He looked at his watch. "Look, I need to get this finished for Jameson, and then I'm going to go for lunch. The Bugle's got its own cafeteria, one floor down. Give me about an hour?"

"See you then," Jean said. She and Bobby left.

 

* * *

 

 

Warren was having his own brand of luck.

Thanks to his family's connections to the rich and powerful of the east coast, Warren knew the lay out of the Daily Bugle pretty well. And as such, he headed straight for Joe "Robbie" Robertson's office. If Scott wanted to know just what Jameson was up to, then Jameson's right hand man was the place to start. Reaching Robbie's office, Warren knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the reply. Warren opened the door and walked in.

"Ah, Warren," Robbie said as he looked up from his desk. He was a little shorter than his boss. His shoulders were stooped from years of care and his black hair was more liberally mixed with grey. He wore pink striped shirt with red suspenders and a blue tie. His desk was cluttered with a computer, pictures of his wife and son and stacks of papers. Warm brown eyes peered out of his gentle face. "What can I do for you son?"

"Hi Mr Robertson," Warren said as he crossed the thinly-carpeted office to a wooden chair that sat across from Robbie's desk and sat down in it.

"You can make his family even more millions," said the other man in the room. He was about Warren's height and age, with intricate box braids and an almost permanent scowl on his broad lips. He wore a long sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans.

"Hi Randy," Warren said to Robbie's song. "How's it going?"

"Not too bad for a poor black boy," Randy responded. Warren had to try to hide a grin. Randy Robertson, according to legend, had been born with a chip on his shoulder the size of Great Britain. At seventeen he had already been arrested for some three dozen protests, slugging a neo-Nazi, breaking a neo-Confederate's leg and vandalising a notoriously corrupt police precinct after they had killed one too many black people. Every time, Randy's connections to the Bugle had kept him out of any real trouble. Warren had met Randy before, and while he appreciated the kid's passion (especially with Warren's own... minority status) that didn't make him any easier to take. "What about you, rich white boy? What's shaking with you?"

"A fair bit," Warren admitted. "I've been at Xavier's school for about two years now."

"Yeah, I saw," Randy said with a snort. "Typical white liberal. He says he supports the common man, and then opens a prestigious private school for 'gifted youngsters.' Gifted here meaning 'my parents can are rolling in cash," I assume."

Warren had to suppress an urge to slug Randy one. Robbie just sighed and placed his face in his palm. Clearly he had the same discussion with his son many times before.

"Scott's an orphan," Warren said quietly. "Bobby would desperately like to be an orphan. He's not getting any support from his parents at any rate. Hank's parents are going to be working until they retire. They can't afford a private school. So maybe you should do some research before you open your fucking mouth, eh?"

"Fuck you--" Randy exploded, but Warren was not taking shit from Randy. Not today.

"Fuck me? Fuck you," Warren interrupted. "You've never gone to jail for any of your stunts, you ever noticed that? Because your rich, famous, and powerful father has kept the law off your back for seventeen years. You'll never have a record, never get shot, never be in danger because you're a part of the nobility too, asshole. You're what, worth a couple hundred thousand? At seventeen. Without ever having worked a day in your life. Gee, who does that sound like? So cut the fucking pretense you goddamned limousine activist. You're just like me: Blue. Fucking. Blood." Warren had stood up and was now in Randy's face. Warren had rolled up his sleeves and was shoving his pale arm in Randy's face to emphasize a point. Randy backed up a little, and Warren could see in his expression an acknowledgement that maybe he had gone a little too far. Still, to Randy's credit, he didn't give up the ghost right away.

"Still no black, latino or Asian students," Randy said quietly. "I feel for your people, Warren, I do. I was just talking to Dad about a raft of white kids who got murdered and all they're being used for is a fucking talking point. Nobody's doing any real investigating, asking any questions or even trying to figure who the kids are! It's just a verbal hot potato that gets passed around between the liberals on one side and the conservatives on the other. Fuck that noise."

"Amen," Warren said.

"But you aren't the only ones who need a school that'll take in your poor and disenfranchised, either," Randy continued. "We need one too."

"The school is still kind of experimental," Warren admitted, aware that he, too, had gone a bit too far. "And the entrance requirements are... kind of unique."

"Delaying your admission of students of colour while you experiment on white people isn't exactly a good look either, Warren," Randy pointed out.

"Would you send students of colour to an old white dude's house without some kind of guarantee that they would be actually getting an education and not abused?" Warren demanded.

"Eh, good point," Randy said. Just then Randy's phone went off. Randy pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

"Damn, I'm late," he said. "I got to go Pops. Bye, Warren. It was good to see you again."

"You too Randy," Warren said as Randy rushed out the door.

"I'm impressed," Robbie said. "You too almost acted like men there. You know, except for the part where you didn't apologize to each other. At all."

Warren grimaced. "Mr. Robertson--" he began.

Robbie waved him off. "Call me Robbie," he said. "Anybody who can call my son out on his bullshit gets to call me by that."

"He's a good kid, Mr.-er, Robbie," Warren said. "He's just..."

"Impulsive? Head-strong? Born with a chip on his shoulder? Short tempered?" Robbie interrupted.

"Well yeah," Warren said with a laugh. "But he's all that cause he cares. It's not like he's looking for sympathy. He just woke up one day and found the world to kind of shitty. And he's being his damndest ever since to try and correct that."

"That," Robbie said, "is truer than you know. Anyway, you didn't come here to discuss my sons faults. Why are you here, Warren?"

"Well," Warren said, "like I told Randy, he isn't the only person worth a crap ton of money without ever having done anything with it. And seeing as I'm the heir to the Worthington fortune..."

"You thought maybe it was time you learned how to use that money?" Robbie said, an understanding smile on his face.

"Something like that," Warren said. "I'm not looking for a job; my school work keeps me hopping as it is. But I was thinking that maybe I should start putting my money to use. And given that were here in the Daily Bugle, I figured that maybe I could start here. Do a little investing, maybe."

"Sure," Robbie said, leaning back in his chair. "Technically, you can't do any investing until you're eighteen."

"Right," Warren said. "But that doesn't mean I can't do a little shopping around, right?"

"Right," Robbie agreed. "And the Bugle's a pretty safe bet these days. We're beating the New York Times and the New Yorker in subscriptions by a fair margin. In stories, too. Our only real competition is The Washington Post, and that's mostly because they've been swiping every good story out of Washington for the last couple of years."

"But you guys have got Spider-Man and Tony Stark and all the rest, right?" Warren asked.

"Pretty much," Robbie agreed. "We've also got something else, something pretty serious. I wouldn't tell you about this ordinarily, but seeing as your professor is invovled, I figure you'll find out anyway."

"Professor Xavier? What do you mean?" Warren asked.

"I mean about sixty, maybe seventy years ago now there was a secret government report made out," Robbie said. "It was a report that detailed a new species of human, one with extraordinary powers."

"Like Wonder Woman and Captain America and Namor the Submariner and all those guys?" Warren asked.

"No," Robbie said. "Cap was an experiment, part of a super soldier program that for some reason only ever managed to produce one soldier. The others were Amazons or Atlanteans or even primitive robots. No, this was something new. Something a lot more powerful than even the nuclear bomb, potentially. The government named them _Homo sapiens mutantis_ , mutated humans. And for a while, that was the end of it. At least, as far as any one can tell. There were all sorts of rumours, of course, especially with some of the odder members of the old Justice Society. But nothing ever really came to pass and the JSA eventually disbanded under government pressure. And then a few years ago, the mutants show up again in the news. Scientists, mainstream ones, start talking about a whole new subspecies of human, one with extraordinary powers."

" _Homo sapiens mutantis_ ," Warren breathed.

"That's right," Robbie said. "Although not every scientist accepted the term. Some didn't think they were a seperate species at all. Just mutants, a reaction to the atom bomb or pollution or the horrors of modernity or something. Genetic abberations. Others though they were a whole new species and called them _Homo mutantis_. And that too would probably have been the end of it except for two things. One of them was your professor Xavier."

"The professor?" Warren asked.

"That's right," Robbie said. "Xavier wrote a whole academic journal's worth of papers on how mutants weren't a threat and that they were just a part of humanity's evolution. No different than, say, the Neanderthal. His intention was probably benevolent, but it suddenly raised the mutant question's standing in academia, by a lot. And that's when the trouble started."

"What do you mean?" Warren asked.

"Some people," Robbie said, "objected to the professor's interpretation. Objected violently, I might add. In particular, one Bolivar Trask..."

"Trask? As in Trask Industries?" Warren interrupted.

"That's the guy," Robbie confirmed. "Why? You know him?"

"We met once," Warren said with a grimace. "He's a military contractor. A big one, he does pretty much all the advanced robotics for the military. Drones, bomb disposal... You name it, his tech's in it somewhere. He and Stark don't get along; they almost came to blows at the party where I met Trask. Other than that, I don't really know the guy. He's pretty quiet."

"Well, he's getting a lot less quiet," Robbie said grimly. "Trask's an anthropologist by education. And once Xavier's papers came out, Trask published a rebuttal. A big one. He claims that mutants aren't natural, aren't a part of humanity's evolution. They're a freak accident, some weird twisting of nature that will eventually rise up against humanity and attempt to destroy us all."

"'Cause that's not paranoid at all," Warren said snidely.

"Paranoid or not, it caused a stir in the academic community," Robbie said. "Especially when Trask claimed that mutants had their own designation for themselves: _Homo superior_."

"Oh great," Warren said. "Where the hell did Trask get that? I know what I think, but I don't think 'I made this piece of information up because I'm a scaremongering military contractor with no sense of morals whatsoever' would really fly in an academic journal."

"You'd be surprised," Robbie said. "A lot of stuff gets through peer review because it conforms to current prejudices or politics or even just because somebody straight up paid for it."

"Yeah, I suppose," Warren said.

"Trask claimed that he got the term from some underground mutant group he was studying called the Brotherhood or something," Robbie said. "At any rate, it doesn't matter. Jonah caught wind of this mutant thing and he wants to run a series of stories on the subject. What mutants are, what they're doing, whether or not they're a threat, is Spider-Man a mutant... You know."

"I'll give Jameson this," Warren said. "He's pretty thorough. What does he think about all this? Mutants, I mean."

"Well," Robbie said hesitantly. "I'm not sure. I don't know that he has a full opinion, exactly. On the one hand, Jameson's never been afraid to call people out who are being stupid or violent or are threatening others."

"On the other hand, Jameson's never been afraid to call out people who are being stupid or violent or are threatening others," Warren finished with a smile. "You think he'll stake out some kind of middle position, supporting mutant rights but also calling for the heads of any who, I don't know, blow up chunks of the city?"

"That does sound like Jameson," Robbie agreed. "I trust you won't spill this to any of our competitors?"

"Definitely not," Warren said. "Though I might talk about it to my fellow students, if you don't mind?"

"I thought you might," Robbie said. "I think you'll want to keep an eye on the fallout over this before you decide to invest anything, too."

"I think I might," Warren said. "I'll see you later, Robbie."

"Goodbye, Warren," Robbie said. Warren got up and left. As he did so, Robbie went back to work.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott and Hank made their way up to were Ned Lee and Ben Urich were working.

"What makes you think they'll talk to us?" Hank asked. "A pair of reporters might not be all that interested in communicating with a pair of high school students."

"I'm a fan," Scott answered simply.

"You're a what?" Hank asked blankly.

"A fan," Scott said wiht a small smile. It wasn't often that you could catch Hank off guard enough to render him speechless. "In addition to being a repressed weirdo, I do have some actual hobbies. One of them is an interest in journalism. That's how I knew who Ben Urich and Ned Lee were."

"I have never thought you were a 'repressed weirdo'," Hank answered primly. "But I must say that I have never expected you to envince an interest in becoming an ink slinger."

"I don't," Scott answered. "Honestly, I'd rather be a pilot. But, I think reporting is an important business and I like to read newspapers. Way better than internet or t.v. news."

"Oh, indubitably," Hank agreed.

"So I study journalism a little bit," Scott said. "Kind of like you and genetics compared to say, engineering."

"I see," Hank said. "More of a diversion than a true interest."

"Something like that," Scott agreed.

"What's a diversion?" Ned Lee asked as the two boys approached the two older men.

"Journalism," Scott answered promptly. "I'm Scott Summers and this is my classmate, Hank McCoy." Hank gave a slight bow which was returned with nods from the two men.

"What can we do for you, Mr. Summers?" Urich asked as he leaned on the wall of his cubicle.

"Like I was telling Hank, I have something of an interest in journalism," Scott said. "And since Mr. Jameson left us out here to rot..."

"You figured you'd kill the time by talking to some old pros," Ned said with a smile.

"Basically," Scott said.

"So, what would you like to know, Mr. Summers?" Ben said.

"We were particularly interested in what perhaps you could tell us about the brawl between Spider-Man and those fiendish thugs earlier this afternoon," Hank piped. "You see, we were there and I distinctly recall see you there sir," this was directed at Ben who nodded in acknowledgement, "and we were sort of wondering just what was going on?"

"That's a good question," Ben said. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. He pulled one out and drew it up to his face only to find there was already another cigarette there. He then put the cigarette back into the carton.

"We don't know much," Ned admitted. "We do know that they were the Kingpin's thugs, though.

"Yeah, we heard Spider-Man mention that," Scott said. "What we can't figure is why the Kingpin would send his goons out in broad daylight to cause trouble."

"Trap," Ben said.

"A trap?" Hank asked. "You mean to imply that today's festivities were soley to draw out the Spider-Man and deal with him finally?"

"Yep," Ben said. "The Kingpin and Spider-Man have been at each other's throats pretty much since the beginning. Spider-Man took out the Big Man, one of Kingpin's biggest rivals just recently..."

"You'd think that would endear the wallcrawler to the Kingpin," Hank pointed out.

"You'd think," Ben agreed. "You'd be wrong, though. The Kingpin apparently figured that Spider-Man wouldn't stop with his rivals and that he'd come after him too. He wasn't wrong, either. Spider-Man's broken up half a dozen crime rings that we can either connect to the Kingpin or have been strongly suspected to be connected to the Kingpin. So Kingpin decided to go after Spidey, hard. That's one of the reasons why Jonah and Peter take such a critical tone of Spider-Man in their videos."

"Escalation," Hank murmured.

"Exactly," Ben said.

"And it looks like it might get worse," Ned said with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked. Ben shot his partner a silencing look, which Ned clearly decided to ignore.

"The rumour on the street is that the Kingpin has found his own team of superpowered people," Ned said. "We don't know if they're mercenaries or if the Kingpin created them out of a lab of his own somewhere."

"Or stole them," Ben said. Ned nodded grimly.

"I thought the Kingpin was opposed to slavery," Scott said slowly.

"Yeah, that's what his supporters say," Ben said. "But its complete horseshit, kid. The only reason the Kingpin shut down all those slavery rings when he first started out was because he wanted a cut and they wouldn't give it to him. So he killed them all and took over. And because they were slavers, he could pretend he was a good guy and that he was cleaning house. But the truth is that he still deals in slaves, ranging from the sex slave trade all the way to domestic servants."

"It's the domestic servants that are the big money maker, funny enough," Ned told the two boys.

"I've read that," Scott said with a sick feeling in his stomach. Some instinct told him that the Kingpin's newfound allies was the Brotherhood, but he couldn't possibly imagine Magneto willingly allying himself with slave traders. "But you don't know that for sure?"

"No, we don't," Ned said with a sigh. "We don't really know anything about these guys at all. For all we know, these new players aren't working for the Kingpin at all and just happen to be allies of convenience. What we do know is that much of the Kingpin's rank and file don't much care for these guys."

"I would imagine that they feel that they are being replaced," Hank mused.

"Probably," Ned said. "We do know some things about these guys, though."

"Such as?" Scott asked.

"At least one of them has super speed," Ned said. "And another one is apparently really powerful. Enough to scare, or at least be used to intimidate the rank and file. But beyond that, we don't know much."

"But how do you know even that much?" Scott said. "I can't imagine the Kingpin has a YouTube channel where he discusses his plans."

"No," Ned said with a laugh. "A lot of it comes from talking to the Kingpin thugs that we do know and trying to get the information from them."

"The thing is," Ben said, "they don't want to talk. And that really limits our ability to get any information out of them."

"I believe it," Hank said. "Mob bosses are not known for their tolerance for loose lips."

"Nope," Ned sighed. "And what they can't scare, they simply buy off."

"But we know who the Kingpin is, right?" Scott asked. "Can't you simply follow him and find out who he's been hiring?"

"No, because we don't have the faintest idea who the Kingpin is," Ben said.

"None?" Scott asked, pretending shock.

"Not a one," Ben said. "His guys are too scared or too well payed to tell us, and those are the ones who have actually seen the guy. Most of his goons have no idea who his or even that he exists. The trail always disappears somewhere high up."

"I guess that's why they call him the Kingpin," Scott said. Just then his phone beeped. Scott pulled it out of his pocket and looked down at the glowing screen.

"It's Jean," he said. "She and Bobby are going for lunch. In the Bugle's cafeteria, it looks like."

"Downstairs," Ben said.

"Right," Scott said. "Thanks for the time." Then he and Hank left.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean and Bobby were the first to reach the cafeteria. Jean stood there for a mintue, scanning the menu for something to eat. She was hungry, hungrier than she realized.

"What do you think?" Bobby said from beside her.

"I think I want the prosuccio on rye," Jean said. "And the blueberry cobbler."

"Yeah, I want a burger," Bobby said. "And a milkshake to wash down the terrible taste of cafeteria food. But that wasn't what I meant."

Jean looked at her brown-haired, brown eyed friend and shook her head. "Let's wait until the others get here, first."

"Fair enough," Bobby said. "You've got any money left?"

"Enough for lunch," Jean said. "Though maybe not if you're going to mooch."

"Hey!" Bobby said. "I never mooch. But I thought maybe that you were going to need to, given how many books you bought this afternoon."

"My parents give me a pretty generous allowance," Jean admitted. "On top of what the professor lent us today. So I bought the books with my money and I was just going to repay the professor when I got home. But I can pay for lunch if you really need me to, Bobby."

"You're sweet, Jean, but I actually haven't actually spent any of money yet," Bobby said. "The professor bought all the weed, not me. So I can grab my own lunch, too."

"If you're sure," Jean said.

"Offer to buy Scott or Warren lunch," Bobby grinned. "I'm sure they'd jump at the offer."

"Bobby!" Jean said, her face blushing red. "Scott doesn't like me, anyway."

"Scott maybe the most repressed human being in existence," Bobby said, "but I haven't seen anybody yet who got fooled by his act. At least until you, Jean. He likes you. He just can't show if for the life of him."

"I think all that ice has made your brain malfunction, _Robert_ ," Jean said icily.

"Hi! Can I get you guys anything?" the cafeteria worker behind the corner asked, having gotten tired of their conversation and waiting for them to come forward and actually order something.

"Um, yes," Jean said. "I'll have the prosuccio on rye and a slice of blueberry cobbler. And a cream soda."

"Okay," the worker said and entered the order into her register. Then she gestured to the end of the of the counter and Jean left to let Bobby grab his own food. Then with their luncheds assembled they swiftly found a table.

"How long do you think the others will be?" Jean said.

"I'm gonna say right about now," Bobby said, leaning backwards over his chair. Jean followed his gaze and saw Hank, Warren and Scott all walk up to the counter. There was a brief argument and then they too got their lunch together.

"Scott! Warren!" Jean shouted as she waved her hand. Scott looked up and saw Jean. He jerked his head towards her and started moving in that direction. The other boys followed.

"Well? What did you find out?" Scott asked.

"That Bobby's right about the cafeteria food," Jean said. "We need to wait for Peter, anyway."

"So he is...?" Scott asked.

"...dating the most impossibly gorgeous woman you've ever seen?" Bobby said. "Yeah, he is. He's also got some kind of massive chip on his shoulder, too."

"Hard to blame him for that," Jean said quietly.

"Yeah, I suppose," Bobby said with a sigh.

"That's not what I meant," Scott said.

"I know Scott," Jean said. "But just wait, okay? He'll be here in a sec and he'll explain everything."

Scott nodded, clearly unsatisfied with that answer. Jean suppressed a snort of frustration. There wasn't anything she was going to be able to do about it anyway. Bobby leaned back over his chair.

"I think I see our guy," he said. "Yep, that's him. Yo, Pete!" Peter looked up and saw the group. He walked over, a brown bag gripped in his hand.

"See, this guy was smart," Bobby said. "He brought his own food. That's what we shoulda done."

"You aren't wrong," Warren said, looking down at his own sad looking burger.

"Its not as bad as it looks like," Peter assured them. "Its just that Jameson is too cheap to pay for good looking food."

"I can see that," Jean said as she bit into her sandwich. Peter was right, it wasn't as bad as it looked.

"So," Scott said.

"So," Peter repeated, "the way I see it is that we all have something to hide here."

"Is this place safe to talk about this?" Warren asked.

"Oh yeah," Peter said. "This place gets so busy we'll be lucky to hear ourselves talk."

Jean had to admit that he had a point. The cafeteria was crawling with reporters and office assistants all chattering away at each other at high volume. Still, she lowered her voice and said:

"Peter's right, we all have something to hide. So let's get it out in the open."

"Okay," Peter said, his voice equally low. "I guess I'll go first. I'm Spider-Man."

"And we're the X-Men," Scott said. "We met earlier today."

"Twice over," Peter agreed. "And you're mutants."

"That's correct," Hank said. A little too loudly.

"Jeez, Hank, you want to let the whole world in on the secret?" Bobby hissed.

"Sorry," Hank said at a much more appropriate volume.

"It's okay," Peter said. "I guess the next question is, what are you guys doing here?"

"Looking for you," Scott answered. "We weren't lying about that. And we really do live up in Salem County."

"Okay," Peter said. "But that's not what I meant. What are you doing here, at the Bugle?"

“Jonah asked the professor here,” Scott answered. “Apparently, Bolivar Trask-I don’t know if you know him, he’s a major arms contractor-has started to raise a fuss about mutants. Saying we’re going to enslave all of regular humanity and all that jazz. Jonah apparently brought the professor in here to talk about it.

"It's a big topic," Peter admitted. "It's not hot yet, but its about to be." He looked around the cafeteria once before turning back to face the mutants:

"The reason I ask is 'cause the word on the street is that there's a group of mutants running around town. And they've been causing trouble."

Scott shared a look with the others. "That's news to us," he admitted. "Mostly, anyway. We've only heard about mutant trouble today, from you guys at the Bugle. But we think we know who those mutants are."

"Hold on one sec," Jean said, raising her hand to interrupt Scott. "Before we get any further, what about that attack in broad daylight from the Kingpin's men? Wasn't that a little brazen?"

"It was," Scott agreed. "And according to Ben Urich and Ned Lee, it was trap set for Spider-Man. Worse, they think that the Kingpin was working with our 'mystery' mutants."

"Okay, the trap part I get," Bobby said frowning, "but why would a gangster like the Kingpin work with mutants?"

"Because they make him money," Peter said. "That's all the Kingpin cares about. Race, gender, sex, species... None of that matters to him. All that mattes is the money. And whether or not you disrespected him. In fact, that's how he gained power: he cut across ethnic and gender lines, made a coalitaion that would make a Democrat drool with envy. About the only place he didn't take over outright was Harlem; that's Cottonmouth territory. And the two are practically blood brothers, so that's not much of a distinction."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Warren agreed. "The real question is why would _Magneto_ of all people work with a gangster like the Kingpin?"

"Who's Magneto?" Peter asked.

"The leader of those mutants that you mentioned," Scott said grimly. "They're called the Brotherhood of Mutants, and they're radical terrorists who are convinced that humanity is out to destroy us all."

"Eh, he's not wrong," Peter said. The X-Men all turned to look at him in surprise. He shrugged.

"What? He isn't. Most humans would sell a mutant down the river for a bent fork. Though I'm willing to bet that ol' Mags' solution isn't any better," Peter added.

"It isn't," Jean insisted. She wondered what on earth had caused this nice young man, so full of life, to turn out so bitter. "Peter it really isn't. Magneto intends to wipe out or enslave all of humanity. He can't be trusted."

"Hey, I'm sold Red, okay?" Peter replied. "You don't have to keep up the sales pitch."

He ate some of his lunch and then added: "I think I know why Kingpin and Magneto are working together, too."

"You do?" Hank asked in surprise.

"Huh-huh," Peter said. "The Kingpin's got military contacts. If Magneto's worried about humanity screwing him over, the first place he should check is the military. So that's probably what the Kingpin got him."

"According to what we over heard today, the Kingpin and the Brotherhood were going to have a hand off later down at the docks," Scott said.

"That makes sense," Peter said. "The Kingpin owns a lot of real estate there. It would be easy to arrange a hand off."

"So, what's the plan?" Warren asked.

"We still don't know what warehouse the Kingpin and the Brotherhood are going to meet at," Scott said. "Peter, do you think you can identify some of Kingpin's goons?"

"And follow them to the warehouse in question?" Peter asked. "Sure, that's not a problem. But it might not give you guys enough time to get there."

"We'll be close by," Scott assured him. "Besides, I wasn't going to ask you to _follow_ any of the Kingpin's goons."

"Oh?" Peter asked. Scott nodded. Peter said:

"Yeah, I get what you mean. I'll find out, don't worry. You guys got a way I can contact you?"

Hank scribbled something down on a napkin. "Here," he said. "It's a very secure e-mail address. It should allow us to contact each other without alerting anybody."

"Got it," Peter said, glancing down at the address before tearing up the napkin.

"Okay," Scott said, glancing at his watch. "The professor should be done by now. Let's go back up and meet him, explain what's going on."

The others nodded and left the table.

END CHAPTER

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note
> 
> Again, not much of a re-write here. Just cleaning up some grammar and spelling mistakes. Catch you all next chapter!
> 
> ***
> 
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby. The Amazing Spider-Man created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Steve Ditko.
> 
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.  
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	9. Enter The Amazing Spider-Man! Part 4

Chapter 8: Enter the Amazing Spider-Man, Part 4

The X-Men were waiting at Professor Xavier's New York City penthouse suite, right in the middle of Midtown. Well, most of them were, anyway.

 

Jean had her nose buried in book while she curled up in one of the professor's overstuffed chairs. Her long red hair flowed down past her shoulders. She was an athletic teen, with a slim build. She wore a dark blue sweater over a lighter blue top and a light blue skirt. Her feet were bare. The book she was reading _Sense and Sensibility_ , a new copy of an old favourite that had disintegrated long ago. The other books she had bought that day spilled out from a bag near her feet.

 

At a table in the middle of the penthouses' spacious living room, a fair distance from Jean, Scott and the Professor played chess. Scott was losing, although not too badly.

 

Scott Summers was about as close to an All-American Boy Scout as it was possible to be, at least on the surface. His soft brown hair was cut short to his scalp. His face was square-jawed and angular, though it hadn't quite lost all of its baby fat yet. His body was lean and hard, like a cross-country runner. He wore a white shirt with a starched collar with the sleeves rolled up and brown slacks. Peaking over the cover of her book, Jean could get a good view of his well-toned arms. Jean smiled. She wasn't sure if Scott's style came from the fact that he was all but the professor's adopted son, or if he really just liked to dress like that. Either way, it fit his personality. Scott Summers was a stuffed shirt, as far as Jean was concerned.

 

It was the sunglasses that betrayed something unusual about the young man. They were ordinary sunglasses save for those lenses. They were a dark red, almost the colour of blood. Jean had heard the professor say that they were made of ruby quartz. The only thing that could keep his powerful optic blasts in check.

 

For Scott was a mutant, code named 'Cyclops'. All of the X-Men were, even Jean. Though her power was less impressive than her classmates, in her opinion: she was just a telekinetic. And not even a very good one at that. She went by the code name 'Marvel Girl.'

 

Opposite Scott, and beating his younger student only by a hair, was Professor Xavier. The professor was a unique looking individual, that was sure. His skin was a good shade darker than all of his students, for one thing, and he had thin, almost pointed ears. His eyebrows were sharply arched, giving him an almost menacing, severe look. And he was completely bald, balder than a chicken's egg. He wore a navy blue three-piece suit and pants, and sat comfortably in a high-backed wheelchair. He was the most powerful telepath the world had ever seen. Though currently, he wasn't using his telepathy, which was the only reason Scott was even coming close to beating him. Jean suspected that the Professor's sense of fair play was what stayed his hand. Or mind, as the case may be.

 

Over in another corner of the living room with the sound turned down were two more members of the X-Men: Robert 'Bobby' Drake and Henry 'Hank' McCoy, playing some video game or other. Bobby was the smallest of the male X-Men and the youngest of them all at only sixteen. He was scrawny, too, built more like a scarecrow than a teenage boy. His face was round and boyish, and there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. Soft blond hair adorned his head. He wore a blue t-shirt that said 'Freezer burn' over darker blue pants. Jean thought his t-shirt was just a little too on the nose, given that Bobby's powers were the ability to generate ice and snow, and the X-Men were trying to stay incognito. Bobby's code name was 'Iceman.'

 

If someone were trying to design Bobby Drake's total physical opposite, they would have had a hard time doing better than Hank McCoy. He was the largest X-Man by far, for one thing, towering over his friend and pretty much always needing an elevator to himself. But he wasn't fat, oh no. Hank's bulk was pure muscle, with all the strenght and speed to go with it. His face was roughly-hewn, looking more like a barbarian than the gentle and well-spoken engineer he really was. He wore an olive t-shirt that had some engineering equation on it over tan pants. His hair was black with blue highlights. According to Hank, he didn't dye it at all; his hair was just like that naturally. Jean wondered if that was part of his mutation, along with the super-strength, agility and enhanced reflexes. Hank was known as 'Beast.'

 

There was one other member of the X-Men. His name was Warren Worthington III, also known as Angel. He was out on a scouting trip, along with the X-Men's newfound ally, the Amazing Spider-Man, to see if they could find any of the Kingpin's goons. And hopefully, use them to track down the Brotherhood of Mutants, the X-Men's sworn enemies.

 

Jean frowned at that thought. At least some of them, like that Scarlet Witch character, didn't feel like enemies. And maybe none of the Brotherhood was. But they were dangerous, that was for sure, and they didn't have humanity's best interests at heart. So, Jean supposed, they had to be stopped.

 

The professor must have been thinking along the same lines for he said: "Are you sure about this, Scott?"

 

In response, Scott simply moved a chess piece back to its original place and continued to frown at the board. Jean suppressed a giggle. The professor said.

 

"That's not what I meant, Scott. I was talking about your mission tonight. Are you sure that you want to go through with this?"

 

Scott either didn't hear, or was thinking about his response, because he didn't say anything in response to the professor's question. Xavier said again.

 

"Scott Summers!" he said, putting just a little bark into his voice. Jean almost jumped out of her seat. It wasn't that the professor had shouted or anything, but she'd never even heard him raise his voice before. It seemed to have no effect on Scott, however, who continued to look down at his chessboard. Eventually, he seemed to realize that someone was talking to him and blinked slowly, raising his head from the board.

 

"I'm sorry professor," he said. "I was kind of lost in my own world, there."

 

"I noticed," the professor said dryly. "And for that matter, I really think you should put that piece back. It will save your life in the next few moves. However, what I was asking was: are you sure about this?"

 

"Magneto may or may not be working with The Kingpin," Scott said, carefully replaying his piece. "And according to Spider-Man, a team of mutants have been causing trouble in the city lately. That's The Brotherhood, I'm sure of it. We need to stop them, Professor. And you know it."

 

Professor Xavier stared out into the distance for a while before nodding reluctantly. "I always knew this day would come," he admitted. "But I thought it would not until you were much older. And I did not think it would be against Erik's own children."

 

"What do you mean, you always knew this day would come?" Jean asked, putting down her book and getting off the chair to approach the professor and Scott. "I thought you were always opposed to violence?"

 

The professor smiled gently at her before turning back to Scott. "Yes, I suppose it's time," he said.

 

"Time to do what?" Scott asked, looking up from the table once more. Bobby and Hank paused their game to listen in.

 

"Tell you what inspired the creation of my school in the first place, what caused me and Erik to start recruiting other mutants, rather than just assuming we were the only ones," Xavier said. "It was years before any of you were born. I had only just met Erik. I was in Egypt at the time, working on an archaeological dig as a student. Naturally, we all stayed in Cairo. And it was there I met him."

 

"Him who, professor?" Jean asked.

 

"Amahl Farouk," Xavier said. "An immensely powerful mutant, with no morals, no ethics, no cause. Just an overwhelming hunger and the need to control others." The professor paused for a second before continuing. "He had the power to possess and control other people, to enslave them to his will. He ran a criminal empire that stretched all throughout Egypt. Those youths he couldn't enslave personally, he had his other servants beat and starve until they were just as loyal. He was cruel beyond compare, violent and vicious. And he had his sights set on me."

 

"But you defeated him, right professor?" Jean asked, fear shimmying up and down her spine.

 

"I did," Xavier confirmed. "He ambushed me in my hotel room. No, that is not quite right. He ambushed me in my mind, I just happened to be in my hotel room at the time. The battle lasted for three days. My fellow students thought I had gone into a coma. But at last I prevailed. I drove him out of my mind and struck. Him. Down."

 

"You killed him?" Scott asked, stunned.

 

"I had no choice, Scott," the professor answered quietly. "Amahl Farouk was a monster, the likes of which I had never seen before. And as strong as a bull elephant in musth. It was all I could do to simply drive him out, never mind kill him. I had no hope of taking him alive, or even of convincing him to surrender. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done." Xavier paused for a minute to look at the ceiling, clearly lost in thought. Finally he redirected his attention to his students and said:

 

"It was then I knew."

 

"Knew what, professor?" Bobby asked.

 

"It was then I knew that mutants needed to be protected, that they needed to be guided and educated," Xavier said. "That we would need to band together in order to create a society that was a force for good in this world, as opposed to creatures like Amahl Farouk, who were pure evil. And so I sought out Erik once more. He had gone on to Argentina, to hunt down Nazi war criminals at the behest of his friends in Israel. It was a dangerous job, even for a man of his talents. But he was prevailing magnificently. I found him in a coffee shop down in Buenos Aires being even more pleased with himself than usual. Apparently he had managed to capture the entirety of the funds the former Nazi's were using to hide themselves, along with several former high-ranking members of Hydra such as Baron Zemo."

 

"Good haul," Bobby said quietly.

“Indeed,” Xavier said. “I won’t lie; I was proud of him. Especially for the capture of Zemo.”

“Wasn’t he the guy who killed Captain America?” Jean asked.

“One of them, yes,” Xavier said. “At any rate, Erik agreed to join me in the creation of my school. Unfortunately, we struggled to find any mutants. The few we did find wanted nothing to do with us or admit they were mutants. Scott was the only one, really.”

“And we all know how that turned out,” Scott said.

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “We got ourselves a stiff-necked leader!”

“Bite me, Bobby,” Scott said.

Angel came winging in through the window, followed closely by Spider-Man.

Warren Worthington III was the heir to the Worthington fortune in Boston. He had blond hair in artful disarray and stunning blue eyes. Warren was built like a swimmer, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and thick legs. That swimmer’s build helped with his mutation, for Warren had large feathery wings growing out of his back. Those wings enabled him to fly. He wore a yellow and blue bodysuit with space for his wings on the back and blue cowl over his head.

Beside him was Spider-Man. The spindly wallcrawler rested lightly on his haunches. He wore a red and blue bodysuit with a chest emblem of a spider in the middle of thin black webbing that covered the red parts of his suit. A red mask with the same black webbing covered his face. Bulging white eyes stared out at the world.

Jean understood why most of the world found Spider-Man creepy. But she knew him to be the kind hearted Bugle photographer Peter Parker, whose had lost his uncle and now struggled to support his aunt. Far from creepy, Jean had come to find Spider-Man a reassuring presence.

“We found them,” Angel said.

“Where?” Scott asked getting up from the chess table.

“One of the Kingpin’s warehouses,” Spider-Man answered. “Down on the docks. It’s owned by a front company. Ben Urich and Ned Lee got ambushed by a speedster when they tried to check it out.”

“Are they okay?” Jean asked.

“They’re fine,” Angel said. “Quicksilver knocked them around some and then dropped them off back at the Bugle. Nobody saw him, of course.”

“Of course,” Jean said, relieved that the two reporters were unhurt.

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Spider-Man said. “We scoped out the warehouse. The Enforcers are there.”

“The who?” Bobby asked, getting up from where he and Hank had been relaxing. Hank got up with him.

“The Enforcers,” Spider-Man said. “Anti-superhero specialists for the criminal underworld. On their own, they aren’t a problem for us. But with the Brotherhood…”

The X-Men nodded their understanding of how grave the situation was. Professor Xavier spoke first:

“I agree with Scott. We need to discover the ties between Magneto and this Kingpin. I suggest you all get changed. You have a long night ahead of you.”

 

* * *

Spider-Man and the X-Men cut across town. Spider-Man carried Jean. Angel carried Scott. Angel had wanted it the other way around. Scott disagreed and the two boys argued over it until Jean put her foot down and climbed on Spider-Man’s back. Hank and Bobby kept up their own way. Hank by using his speed and agility to roof-hop, while Bobby used short ice slides. The X-Men were in their costumes; yellow and blue bodysuits like Warren’s but with adaptations for their mutations. Scott’s costume had a visor with a ruby-quartz lens to control his optic blasts. Hank wore special boots that allowed his feet to work like hands. Bobby wore blue trunks over his snowy body. Jean’s costume was the only one without any modifications.

The teens reached the warehouse. They huddled together on a warehouse rooftop opposite their target to discuss their strategy.

“I don’t like it,” Scott said. “There’s only one way in or out.”

“That’s probably not true,” Spidey said. “The Kingpin always has an escape route.”

“But we can’t find it and if we can’t find it we can’t use it,” Bobby pointed out.

“Our frozen friend here has a point,” Hank said. “Whatever secret entrance or exit our criminal friends have, it does us no good.”

“But it might do the Kingpin and his goons a lot of good,” Scott said grimly. “Either they can escape from us or bring in reinforcements.”

“So what do we do? Scrap the mission?” Jean asked.

“No way!” Warren said. “We can take these guys!”

“Much as I hate to agree with a guy from Boston on anything,” Spider-Man said, “he’s right. And we won’t get another opportunity like this.”

“Even if we just scatter these guys to the four winds,” Bobby pointed out, “that would be a big plus. It’d slow them down, anyway.”

“Agreed,” Hank said. “However, we are committing a huge risk, here. If we fail, I doubt that these Enforcers will treat us with clemency.”

“Probably not,” Jean agreed. “But what else are we going to do? Call the cops?”

“They are definitely not ready for this show,” Spider-Man said.

“Then it’s up to us,” Scott said. “Here’s the plan…”

 

* * *

 

“Your boss has just brought Spider-Man down on our heads!” Pietro “Quicksilver” Maximoff jabbed his finger at the cowboy.

Pietro was a mutant, like the X-Men. His power was super-speed, hence the name ‘Quicksilver.’ He wore a green bodysuit with a silver lightning bolt on it. Quicksilver’s hair was pure white, like his father’s.

The cowboy stared at Quicksilver with cold dead eyes. He was dressed in a cowboy hat, a purple jacket, brown slacks and two-tone brogues. His name was Montana, and he lead the Enforcers. Montana said:

“You worry about your own selves, you hear? Let us worry about the Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, how about no?” Quicksilver said. “That trap today was stupid. And it wasn’t only Spider-Man you tipped off either, you pathetic excuse for a cowboy!”

“You seem awfully concerned about those fellows in yellow and blue,” another one of the Enforcers said. This one was called Fancy Dan. He wore a purple suit and broad brimmed hat with a purple band. Fancy Dan was also short, and Pietro had a strong urge to engage in some dwarf tossing. “One might think you know these people.”

“We don’t know their names,” Pietro’s sister, Wanda Maximoff, said from behind Pietro. “But we have met them before. And they are powerful mutants in their own right.”

Wanda had gathered stares from the gangsters right from the get-go. Pietro supposed he couldn’t blame them. Wanda was tall and athletic. Curly auburn hair framed a heart-shaped face. She wore a red bodysuit with gauzy pink arms and legs. On her hands she wore red gloves and on her feet she wore red boots. Her hair was pulled back by a large square mask with two prongs sticking up and the face cut out. A red cape completed the ensemble. Wanda went by the code name ‘Scarlet Witch,’ which did a lot to explain all the red.

At least the gangsters treated Wanda better than her fellow mutants did.

“And they didn’t give you their names?” Fancy Dan asked. “Tsk tsk. What passes for manners these days?”

Pietro stifled the urge to kick the gangster through warehouse wall. He looked around. The Brotherhood and the Enforcers were in the warehouse’s main office, overlooking the loading area. The office was cramped even without the seven people in it. Montana sat behind the desk, leaning back in the chair. Fancy Dan was beside him and on the other side was a lumbering giant by the name of Ox. Ox wore a brown vest over a yellow shirt and brown pants. He had brown curly hair over a brutish face.

Opposite the Enforcers were the Brotherhood. In addition to Wanda and Pietro, there was the Blob, Mastermind and Toad.

Out of all the Brotherhood members, Pietro hated Mastermind the most. Jason Wyngarde had greying hair, a hunched back and a sour, rectangular face. He wore a dark brown poncho that came right down to his dirty brogues. Pietro could forgive the man’s looks. What he could not forgive was Jason’s constant use of his illusion powers to prey on Wanda.

Toad wasn’t any better. Born with the unfortunate name of ‘Mortimer Toynbee’, Toad had to have one of the worst mutations Pietro had ever seen. His skin was a sickly green. Toad’s legs were elongated forcing him to constantly squat like, well, a toad. His eyes bulged out of his squat skull. A long coiled tongue sat in his toothless mouth. Pietro thought him ugly. Wanda found him terrifying. Everybody found his constant toadying towards Magneto irritating.

The last member of their unhappy band was the Blob, who stood in dark blue onesie, puffing on a cigar. The cigar was the least discussing thing about the Blob. The Blob’s mutation was nigh-invulnerability in the form of layers upon layers of fat. Fat that his onesie did everything to expose. A bowl cut of brown hair framed his fat round head.

The warehouse door exploded in a ruby-red flash.

 _Scott, I have never been so glad and so angry to see you_ , Pietro thought. On the one hand, Pietro missed his adoptive brother. On the other hand, this had been exactly what Pietro had tried to warn the Enforcers about.

“Told you so,” Pietro said.

“Can it,” Montana snapped. “We’ll take care of this!”

The Enforcers pulled out three AK-101’s out of a gun cage in the back of the office. They went to the windows and started shooting. Pietro rolled his eyes. If he knew Scott, the boy scout was already prepared for the Enforcers pop guns.

He was right, too. Emerging from the blown out door was a wall of ice, easily thick enough to take care of the AK’s relatively weak round.

“Toad!” Pietro shouted over the racket.

“What?” Toad shouted back.

“While these knuckleheads are busy shooting the place up, you and are going to circle around that sheet of ice and take out the losers,” Pietro said.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Toad said. “Let’s just run away. We’ve got what we came here for, right? Let the gits take each other out.”

“Toad…” Pietro began. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of ruby red.

Quicksilver’s powers kicked in. Time slowed down. He sped up, cursing himself for not having guessed Scott’s plan. Obviously while the ice guy was holding up the shield, Scott would shoot from around it, trying to take out the Brotherhood and the Enforcers all at once!

It didn’t matter now. The only thing that mattered was getting everybody out. The first person Pietro grabbed was Wanda. He rushed her downstairs and out of the way the incoming blast. Then he grabbed Toad and positioned the little coward on the left flank. Scott’s blast came from the right, and Pietro knew that only he was capable of dealing with the powerful optic blasts. On the left flank, though, Pietro hoped that Scott was exposed. Toad’s cruel and self-serving nature would lead him to attack when an opportunity presented itself.

Next up was Mastermind. Although Pietro would have loved to leave Jason to take Scott’s attack, he had a feeling that he was going to need the illusionist to make good the Brotherhood’s escape. So Quicksilver picked Jason up and stuffed behind some equipment, hoping that would keep the mutant safe until Pietro needed him.

Next up were the Enforcers. Pietro pried the guns out of their hands and whisked them to safe places behind heavy equipment.

Finally, it was the Blob’s turn. Pietro tried to lift the overweight mutant with his bare hands, and then with a dolly. Neither method worked. By that time, Scott’s optic blast was inches away from the office, so Pietro ran out the door and left the Blob to take the hit.

 _Sorry, Blob,_ Pietro thought. _But at least I know you can take it!_

Pietro sped down the stairs and onto the right flank. Time returned to normal. And Pietro discovered that he had miscalculated once again.

On the left flank, Toad collided in mid-air with a hairless gorilla in blue and yellow who said: “Violence is the last resort of the incompetent!” Pietro himself got hit with an optic blast that Scott must have fired right after the shot to take out the warehouse office. Which exploded at the same time, causing the Blob to crash into the warehouse floor.

Pietro got up from being shot down just in time to see the warehouse’s skylights break and Spider-Man and another fellow in blue and yellow come crashing in. The guy in blue and yellow had wings, which Pietro thought was mighty unfair.

The winged guy dive bombed the Enforcers. Montana grabbed his lariat and lassoed Wings, only to be clobbered by the Gorilla. Fancy Dan went after the Gorilla with his martial arts and got zapped by Scott. Ox and the Blob decided to team up rushed the combatants. Both the Gorilla and Wings took to the sky. Spider-Man hooked Ox with a webline and pulled him down hard. Blob kept charging… right onto an ice slick that sent him careening out of the warehouse. Pietro wasn't sure where that ice slick came from, and he didn’t care. It was time to leave.

“Mastermind!” Pietro shouted. Jason caught on and soon Xavier’s students and Spider-Man were confronted with hundreds of imaginary combatants.

“Whew!” Pietro breathed. “All right! Everybody who can, get moving! It’s time to blow this popsicle stand!”

“ _Oh Mastermind_!” came a sing-song voice from somewhere in the warehouse. Jason whirled around only to get smacked in the face with metal pipe. A pipe that was glowing pink.

 _I forgot about the redhead!_ Pietro thought as Scott’s plan became clear. He’d kept the redhead in reserve, guessing that Mastermind’s illusions only worked on people he could see. Scott was half-right, too. _We’re in trouble_ , Pietro thought. It was six to eight in his favour, but Scott had a team he could work with and who had been clearly practising with each other. Plus Spider-Man.

“Surrender, Quicksilver!” Scott shouted.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, mister…?” Quicksilver said, playing for time and remembering his sister’s lie from earlier. Like Wanda, he did not want these gangsters to get a hold of Scott or the professor.

Scott must have picked up on Quicksilver’s lie or had his own reasons for hiding his identity because he said: “You can call me Cyclops. I represent the X-Men! We’re here to take you in!”

“Cyclops? Okay,” Pietro said. “Well, uh, Mister Cyclops of the X-Men, I don’t think so. I’m not interested in spending the night in some government black site, and I don’t think my friends are either.”

“I hear Area 51 is lovely this time of year,” Spider-Man said.

“Area 51 is closed, insect,” Montana pointed out.

“Okay, first off it’s ‘arachnid’ not ‘insect,’” Spidey said. “Seriously, do they even teach biology in school these days? And secondly, that’s what they want you to think!”

“We can protect you,” Cyclops said from behind the ice wall.

“I think not,” another voice, much deeper and more authoritative, said from up above. Pietro looked up saw his father hovering outside the warehouse roof.

Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, also known as Magneto, was an eighty-year old man, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at him. He was tall and lean, dressed in red armour with purple trunks over his pants and purple boots. A red helmet with purple trim covered his head. A dark purple cape blew in the wind. He lowered himself down to the warehouse floor.

“Cyclops, is it?” Magneto murmured. “Of the X-Men? How interesting. Perhaps you could introduce me to your friends.”

“Surrender, Magneto,” Scott replied. “Surrender, and we won’t hurt you.”

“Definitely not,” Magneto said. “However, I have no interest in harming fellow mutants. Therefore, I am willing to offer an exchange.”

“What sort of exchange?” Cyclops asked.

“A very simple one,” Magneto answered. He produced file folder from inside his cape. “Here are details about American military anti-mutant experiments. In exchange for this information, my associates and I will be allowed to go free.”

Cyclops didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Pietro held his breath. “Spider-Man?” Scott asked.

“Works for me,” Spider-Man said. “I know some people who put that info to good use.”

“All right,” Cyclops said. “Hand the file over to Spider-Man, Magneto. Once he has it, we’ll leave. You had better, too.”

“Of course,” Magneto said. He handed the file over to Spider-Man. Spidey said: “Got it, Cyclops!”

“Our business here is concluded,” Magneto said.

***

“You did the right thing, Scott,” Professor Xavier said.

The X-Men were back in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. They dropped Spider-Man off at the Bugle with a copy of the information Magneto had given them. Spidey promised that Jameson would publish the material as soon as possible. The X-Men made the long journey back home with the professor, eager to put the long day behind them.

“I sure hope so,” Scott said. The X-Men had retired to the professor’s smoke room, which smelt faintly of weed. Scott was in his pyjamas, as were the rest of the X-Men.

“It was the right thing,” Xavier insisted. “This information will go a long way to protecting mutants. But now it is time for me to go to bed. I will see you all in the morning.”

“Do you need any help, professor?” Scott asked.

“No, dear boy. I am quite capable of putting myself to bed,” Xavier said. “Good night.” He wheeled himself out of the smoke room, leaving just the X-Men.

“I don’t know about anybody else, but I think it’s time to get good and stoned,” Bobby said, pulling out a bong and some pot.

“I second that motion,” Hank said.

“Third,” Warren said.

“Fourth,” Scott said.

“Why not?” Jean said. The four boys stared at her.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Jean,” Scott said.

“I’m sore and I’m tired, Scott,” Jean said. “Weed’s supposed to help with that, right? Besides, it can’t hurt to try. I need somebody to show me how, though,” Jean added. “I’ve never smoked weed before.”

“Bobby can show you,” Scott said. Warren, Bobby and Hank all groaned. Jean snorted.

“Delegating,” she said, “the true sign of a leader. Okay, Bobby. Show me how to get high.”

“Sure,” Bobby said. He prepared the bong and took a deep huff, then exhaled. He passed the bong to Hank, who did likewise. Then came Warren and Scott. When at last it was Jean’s turn, she carefully mimicked the boys.

“She’s a natural,” Bobby giggled as Jean exhaled the smoke like she had been smoking for years.

“Top marks, top marks,” Hank agreed.

“Thanks guys,” Jean said. She giggled.

The perfect ending to one heck of an adventure.

END CHAPTER

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:  
> Did you know that this arc was supposed to be a one shot chapter? Yeah. Oh well. Stuff like that happens during the writing process, man. You’ve just got to roll with it.
> 
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby. The Amazing Spider-Man created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Steve Ditko.
> 
> ***
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.
> 
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	10. Vanishing Varmints, Part 1

The Uncanny X-Men, Chapter 10: Vanishing Varmints! Part One

“… that was Dr. Richards of the Fantastic Four, also known as ‘Mr. Fantastic,’” the radio beside Jean’s bed blared. “After thwarting a large scale ecological disaster, the Fantastic Four were accused by several senators of ‘reckless endangerment’ and vigilantism. Industrialist Lex Luthor, who owned the plant responsible for the disaster, praised the Four’s actions…”

 _I’m sure he did,_ Jean Grey thought. _After all, it was his plant they saved!_

Jean Grey was a student at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, the world’s only school for mutants. For Jean was a mutant, though most would not know it by looking at her. She was of average height with a track runner’s build. Long red hair framed her round face and flowed down to her waist. Green eyes peered out over an upturned nose. She wore a loose fitting blue blouse and dark pants. In her hands was Susan Reynold’s _Kingdoms and Communities in Western Europe 900-1300_ , which she was studying for her history paper.

Like all Xavier’s students, Jean lived at the school. The school was Professor Xavier’s ancestral mansion, a neo-colonial home with expansive lands located at 1407 Graymalkin Lane in Salem Center, Westchester County, New York. Jean’s room was on the second floor. In the three months that Jean had been at the school, she’d slowly decorated the room to her tastes. On the walls, posters of Basil Karlo, cats and an odd one featuring a phoenix had been put up. Sitting against the west wall was an old and much loved blue desk that contained her laptop and note pad. To the east wall was Jean’s closet. In the north east corner of the room was a private bathroom, an amenity Jean very much appreciated. Along the north wall was Jean’s bookshelf, which she had been slowly populating. Against the south wall was Jean’s bed. Jean had swapped out the original plain white covers for blue ones. Currently, Jean’s computer was playing a radio program while Jean studied.

Xavier’s school only had five students so far. Out of those five, Jean’s mutation was the most subtle. She was a telekinetic, capable of moving objects with her mind. At first, the only thing Jean could do was make school gymnasiums explode. Over the last three months, Jean had gained greater control of her powers. Now she could lift anything her weight, create and maintain telekinetic shields and even thread a board without breaking the board! Mostly.

There was a knock on Jean’s door. Jean set her book down and walked over to the door to open it. On the other side of the door was Scott Summers.

Scott was the first of Xavier’s students, and the oldest at eighteen. He was tall and slim, with the same kind of track runner’s body that Jean herself had. He had a sharp, angular face, a rugged jaw and a prominent nose. Scott wore a white starched collar shirt over brown slacks and brown slippers. His brown hair was carefully parted. Over his eyes, Scott wore sunglasses with lenses of ruby-quartz. Those sunglasses were the only thing capable of stopping Scott’s powerful optic blasts.

“Um, hi Jean,” Scott said.

“Hey, slim. What’s up?” Jean asked.

“Nothing much,” Scott said. “It’s just, class is about to start and I was wondering if you wanted to go do something after?”

Jean looked the older student over. Scott was handsome, athletic and brave. He was also a good leader for the X-Men, managing to keep their competing personalities in line.

The problem was that he had the personality of that starched collar of his.

“Sure,” Jean said. “Why not?”

***

Although the X-Men had many classes throughout the day, there was only one that really mattered.

And that was Superheroics 101.

Officially, it was gym class. But as the goal was to teach the X-Men how to use their powers for the good of all, mutant and human alike, the X-Men had taken to calling it Superheroics 101. And today, it was putting them through their paces.

One of the WayneTech training dummies swung a hammer fist on Jean’s telekinetic shield, hoping to break her nose. The training dummies had been built by WayneTech and Karl Rossum for martial arts training. Jean doubted that either Rossum or Wayne meant for the dummies to be used for superhero training, but they’d proven remarkably adaptable.

Jean responded to the dummy’s hammer fist with a telekinetic shove, sending the android sprawling to the ground. It got back up and dropped into a low guard. Unfortunately for the dummy, Jean’s telekinetic shove had not been a mere opportunistic strike. Rather, the shove had placed the dummy in the path of another dummy Hank McCoy was throwing around, causing the two dummies to crash into each other and out of the fight.

Hank was another one of Jean’s fellow students. His mutation was much more obvious than Jean’s. Hank was stocky, with broad shoulders and massive legs. His hands and feet were outsized, greatly increasing his dexterity. Hank’s face was a perfect square, with a snub nose situated far above his mouth. Hank’s mutation was that of increased strength, speed, agility and enhanced senses, with the physique to match. He wore a blue and yellow armored bodysuit that had become the X-Men’s uniform, with dark blue gloves, boots and cowl. The boots had been specially modified to allow Hank to grab things with his feet. Hank’s code name when the X-Men were on duty was ‘Beast.’

Jean looked up over the glowing pink circle that was her telekinetic shield. Like Hank, she was wearing a blue and yellow bodysuit, though with normal boots. Jean’s code name was ‘Marvel Girl.’ Sweat ran down her face. The X-Men had been at this for half an hour, and they were getting tired.

Over to her left, Jean saw several of the dummies grab a hold of Warren and pulled him down to the ground. Jean responded by grabbing one of the dummies and dragging him backward. A strike with the edge of her shield put the dummy out of commission. The other X-Men quickly joined in Warren’s defence. Scott blasted two of the dummies, taking them out. Bobby pelted others with snowballs, shutting them down. Hank took a running leap where he curled into a ball at the end, smashing into the dummies. Within in seconds, the match was over.

“Well done,” Professor Xavier said from the north side of the gym, known affectionately as ‘the Danger Room.’ The Professor flicked a switch, returning the Danger Room’s lights to normal and shutting off the dummies.

Professor Xavier was the founder of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, and the world’s most powerful telepath. He was much older than he looked, having been born in 1932. Xavier was bald, with bronze skin, pointed eyebrows and thin ears. He wore a blue pinstriped three-piece suit with a red and blue striped tie. Xavier rolled his wheelchair forward towards the X-Men, the result of an incident decades in the past.

“Thank you, sir,” Scott said. He, too, had changed into the blue and yellow bodysuit of the X-Men. Over his eyes he wore a visor with a ruby-quartz lens. Scott’s code name was ‘Cyclops.’

“Yeah,” Warren said as he picked himself up from where the dummies had dropped him. “Except for the part where I almost got stomped to death.”

Warren Worthington III was the heir to the Worthington family, a clan of blue-bloods from Boston. His mutation was a pair of white feathered wings, the ability to fly, limited super-strength and angelic beauty. Warren was built like a swimmer, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and powerful legs. His face was round, with baby blue eyes, a Greek nose and short blond hair. Warren, too, wore the yellow and blue bodysuit and cowl of the X-Men, but with cut-outs in the back for his wings. Warren’s code name was ‘Angel’. He glared at Scott.

“It’s your fault for flying so low,” Scott shot back. “I warned you to stay up out of reach, didn’t I?”

Warren was about to fire back, but Jean stepped between them.

“Come on guys,” she said, “let’s not fight. Scott did warn you to stay up out of reach, Warren. But he can’t do that and help the rest of us, can he Scott?”

“No,” Scott admitted.

“And Warren,” Jean said, turning to the other student, “Scott was the first of us to help you when you got in trouble.” It was a little fib, but Jean wasn’t too concerned. After her, Scott was the first to help, after all.

Warren looked at Jean skeptically, but nodded. “Close enough, anyway,” Warren admitted. “And I suppose I should have listened when you warned me to stay up high, Scott. Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Scott said. “Jean’s right, you can’t stay up high and provide us air support at the same time. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Warren said.

“Aw, look at our boys all grown up,” Robert “Bobby” Drake said, coming up from behind Jean. Bobby was the youngest of the X-Men at just sixteen. He had the same lean runner’s body as Scott, but shorter. A mop of dyed blue hair sat atop his oval head. Mischievous brown eyes peered out over an upturned nose. Of all the X-Men, Bobby was the only one not to wear the blue and yellow bodysuit. Instead he wore a pair of blue trunks. This was because Bobby’s mutation, the ability to create ice and snow, allowed Bobby to turn into a snowlem. Bobby’s code name was ‘Iceman’.

“I was rather more impressed by Jean’s maturity,” Hank replied, peeling off his cowl to reveal a mop of dark blue hair. The hair colour was another part of his mutation, and arguably the one that irked Hank the most. After all, who’d ever heard of a _blue_ gorilla? “Getting those two precociously obtuse cretins to apologize to each other is a miracle worthy of a saint.”

“Oh, go jerk each other off,” Warren said, also taking off his cowl.

“Warren!” Jean exclaimed. Scott and the professor both face-palmed.

“Eh, Hank isn’t in to it,” Bobby said shrugging.

“Implying that you would be,” Jean said.

“Eh, I’ll try anything once,” Bobby said.

“Three months ago, that would have shocked me,” Jean said. “You’re a bad influence, Bobby Drake!”

“I know. Isn’t it awesome?” Bobby said grinning.

“Corrupted by a malicious sixteen year old,” Jean sighed. “My poor priest. He must be having a heart attack!”

“Moving right along,” the professor said. “You all did well. I am proud of you. You have the rest of the day to yourselves.”

“I think that’s the professor’s way of saying we stink and need a shower,” Bobby said, ambling towards the showers.

“I see, Robert, that your gift for reducing intelligent conversation to its most banal remains intact,” Hank said, tagging along with his friend.

“What can I say? It’s a talent,” Bobby said.

Jean followed the two boys to the girl’s shower, grinning and shaking her head. Warren caught up with her.

“Hey, Jean. I was wondering if you wanted to do something this afternoon?” he asked.

“I would love to! But Scott and I are going into the city later,” Jean said. “So, rain check?”

“Sure,” Warren said. He sounded a little disappointed. “How about tomorrow?”

“Okay,” Jean said. She and Warren parted ways, with Jean heading to the girls shower and Warren the boys.

***

A man in a purple scaled tunic and pants, with a purple cape that had a collar that looked like a cobra’s hood walked into the bank. He had a rectangular face and a wide nose. The man wore goggles with multi-faceted lenses over his eyes.

He scanned the bank carefully. The east wall was lined with tellers. To the right of the tellers was the entrance to the bank vault. To the left as the security station. The north wall held the bank managers offices. In the north west corner was a customer service desk. To the south were two conference rooms. The man snorted. This was going to be too easy.

Nobody even noticed the man in the strange costume. Why should they, in this day and age? Most everybody was on their phones, chatting or texting or playing games. Many of them were in stranger costumes than the man himself was!

The man was disappointed. He was Telford Porter, the Vanisher! Industrial saboteur, spy, and supervillain, and nobody was paying attention. Oh well. His prospective employer would probably be disappointed if he drew attention to himself, anyway.

Porter walked towards the bank vault, bypassing the line in front of the tellers. He sized up the vault door, and then teleported through it!

For Telford Porter was a mutant, one gifted with the ability to teleport. Porter’s range was short, but he could teleport through anything. He didn’t even need to see where he was going.

Once Porter was inside the vault, he carefully checked around. Lining the vault were boxes of cash, jewels, and more. Porter wasn’t interested in those goodies, though. At least not today. There was something else that was supposed to be in this vault…

And there it was. A safety deposit box, marked number 1783. Porter grinned. Whatever was in that box, his employer wanted it. Why the Russian government wanted a safety deposit box from a bank too small to have separate vaults for its cash and its safety deposit boxes, Porter didn’t know or care. All that mattered was that he had the box and was going to get away easily. The Vanisher grabbed the box and teleported out of the vault. Nobody noticed!

***

Jean and Scott the train into New York City and decided to grab an early dinner at one of the city’s many restaurants. Jean was dressed casually, in a light blue blouse and dark blue pants. Over her day clothes she wore a thick winter jacket and a tuque to cover her head.

Scott went in a brown wool trench coat over a brown suit. Jean swore she was going to force the young man into casual clothes at some point.

They arrived at the restaurant and got a seat quickly. Scott helped Jean take her jacket off, then hung both their jackets up beside their table.

“Thanks, Scott,” Jean said as she sat down.

“You’re welcome,” Scott said, sitting down across from her. They sat in awkward silence for a while before Jean decided to break the ice.

“So, what’s new with you, Scott?” she asked.

“Um, nothing much,” Scott answered. Jean waited for a few minutes more, but Scott stayed silent. Finally Scott muttered:

“This was a mistake.”

“What was?” Jean asked, surprised.

“This,” Scott answered, waving his arm at the restaurant. “Warren wants you too. What chance do I have against a guy like him?”

Jean blinked in surprise. “Scott Summers,” she said, “are you saying that you _like_ me? Like like?”

“Yes,” Scott said, turning as red as his optic blasts.

Jean stared at him in amazement. Much of Scott’s, and Warren’s, behaviour over the last three months suddenly made sense. Except it didn’t! Scott only ever made the barest effort to be her friend. Warren had shown more interest, true, but not by much. Only by being extra courteous and gentlemanly had Warren showed any interest, and Jean put that down to his upbringing.

 _Scott’s shy!_ Jean realized. _Really, really shy. That’s why he hasn’t tried to get to know me! He’s too scared._

“Oh,” Jean said.

“I understand. I…” Scott said as he got up.

“Sit down,” Jean said, waving him back down. “You don’t talk to me, Scott. I didn’t know you were, you know, interested in me. That way.”

“And you’re not,” Scott said. “Interested in me, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jean said carefully. “You are really handsome, Scott. I won’t lie. You’ve got great cheek bones, a perfect jaw and fantastic abs.” Jean blushed the colour of her hair when she said that, but it was true. Scott Summers could give a Greek statue a run for its money in the ab department.

“But not as handsome as Warren,” Scott said.

“Well, Warren’s a mutant,” Jean said, chuckling at her own pun. “But you don’t give up as much to Warren as you think, Scott,” she added, her blush fading. “Most guys would kill for your looks.”

“It’s the eye thing, then,” Scott said. “I understand…”

“Can I, can I be allowed to explain myself, please?” Jean asked.

“Sorry,” Scott said.

“You do that too much,” Jean said. “Scott, the problem is that I don’t know you. At all. Or Warren for that matter. Or even Hank! The only one of you four who’s really reached out to me in the last three months has been Bobby. I love Bobby, I do. He’s like the little brother I never had. But he’s not enough. I’m still very much the outsider here.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“Because you don’t talk to me,” Jean reminded him. “This is the second time we’ve had any kind of one on one time together in three months. And in public, the only time we speak is when you’re giving orders! Okay,” she admitted, “it’s not that bad. But it sure feels that way sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “It’s just… really hard for me to get to know new people.”

“I understand that,” Jean said. “At least, now I do. So how about we start from the beginning, try to get to know each other?”

“That sounds great,” Scott said. He blew out his cheeks and said: “Okay. I’m from Alaska, originally. Anchorage. My dad was a pilot. He took my family up in his plane one day. There was an incident. I was the only survivor.”

“Oh, Scott. I’m so sorry,” Jean said.

“Yeah, well. It’s not your fault,” Scott said, shrugging uncomfortably. “Any way, the crash left me with some brain damage.”

“Hence the glasses,” Jean said.

“Exactly,” Scott said. “I bounced around the system for a while, always getting kicked out of one home or another. Eventually I ended up in a boy’s school run by a guy named Nathaniel Essex. He ran the place like a concentration camp. When he wasn’t forcing us to work on whatever insane project he had this week, he experimented on us. Forced us to fight each other.”

“How cruel,” Jean said.

“I wasn’t there long,” Scott said. “I ran away as soon as I could. That’s when I met the professor and Lehnsherr. What they were doing in Nebraska I don’t know, and I don’t really care. What matters is that when I told them what Essex was doing, they listened. Lehnsherr stormed right up to the place and took Essex to the cleaners. All the kids were released. Back into the system were they could get screwed over again, but wherever they ended up I’m sure it was better than with Essex.”

“I remember when Mr. Lehnsherr showed at the warehouse,” Jean said with a shudder, careful not to use the name Magneto in public. “He scared me, Scott. Bad.”

“And you’ve never seen him mad,” Scott said. “Anyway, that’s how I ended up living with the professor. What about you? What’s your story?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” Jean said, smiling. “Let’s see. I’m a native of New York State. The Greys have been here since before the Dutch handed New York over to the English. Family legend says that some of the local tribes married into the Grey family, but I don’t know how true that is. We’ve definitely intermarried with the Worthington’s, Roosevelts, and probably the Xavier’s, too. Until I was eight, I was educated in all the posh schools in Putnam County.”

“What happened when you were eight?” Scott said.

“Annie. She…” Jean stopped, biting back tears. “She was my best friend. We were inseparable. Until she got hit by a car.”

“I’m so sorry,” Scott said.

“You apologize way too much,” Jean said, openly crying now. “You need to stop that.”

“Sorry,” Scott said. Jean laughed.

“Anyway,” she said, still crying, “I was there when Annie got hit. The doctors said I should take a year off from school to get better. It ended up being two. That’s when… the incidents started.”

“When your powers activated,” Scott said, after a quick glance around the restaurant to make sure nobody was listening in.

“Yeah,” Jean said. “At first, the incidents weren’t so bad. Little stuff kept flying away from me when I was stressed or upset. But it kept causing a distraction in the class, so I got kicked out. And things just got worse from there.”

“Until you blew up your school’s gym,” Scott teased.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Jean said indignantly. “Those girls were the ones who teased me! Anyway, that’s my life story.”

The waitress came by. “Hi! Can I get you two something to drink?” she asked.

“Um,” Scott said, looking down at the menu. “A ginger ale, please.”

“Shirley Temple,” Jean said.

“Got it,” the waitress said jotting down their order. Before she left, the waitress passed a piece of paper to Jean. Then she was gone.

“What was that all about?” Scott asked.

“Not sure,” Jean said. She unfolded the paper and read it. Jean snorted.

“What?” Scott asked.

“Oh, it’s a business card for a women’s shelter,” Jean said. “I guess she thought I was in trouble.”

“Keep it,” Scott advised. “I’m willing to bet that some of the women in those shelters are mutants, too.”

“That’s a good point,” Jean said, tucking the card into her coat pocket. She turned back to Scott and said:

“So, what do you want for dinner?”

END CHAPTER

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What-ho true believers! Scott and Jean’s first date, are you excited? True, Warren is also trying for our redheaded heroine. Does anybody think he will succeed?  
> Of course, romance isn’t the only reason we’re here. I hope you all enjoyed our first look at the vile Vanisher, this arc’s major villain! I’ll see you all next time.  
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby.  
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.  
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	11. Vanishing Varmints, Part 2

The Uncanny X-Men, Chapter 11: Vanishing Varmints! Part 2

“Are you certain about this, Professor?” Henry “Hank” McCoy said from underneath the professor’s desk in the south-east corner of Xavier’s mansion. Hank was a mutant. He had been born with enhanced strength, agility and senses. Unfortunately, he had the physique to match. Hank was broad shouldered and stout. His feet were like an extra pair of hands. Hank’s face was square and heavy, with an upturned nose perched far above his mouth. His hair was blue. Hank wore a black t-shirt over a grey long-sleeved shirt. The tee read: “Science Rules!” Over his bulky legs, Hank wore a pair of tan cargo pants. He was a member of the newest superhero team the X-Men, code name ‘Beast.’

“Quite,” Professor Charles Xavier said. Xavier, like his student, was a mutant. The most powerful telepath in the world. An incident decades in the past left him confined to a wheelchair. Xavier was bald, with tan skin, pointed ears, and thin, arching eyebrows. He wore a navy blue suit with a white shirt and red tie. “We need to find other mutants before Erik does.”

“It just seems a tad… invasive,” Hank said as he continued to work on the wiring. The two of them were working on ‘Cerebro’ a device designed to amplify Xavier’s power and detect mutants.

“I will be invading no one’s mind, Hank,” Xavier assured his student. “I merely seek to determine whether or not they are mutants.”

“Which is rather my point,” Hank said, popping his head out from under the desk. “Some people will not wish to be identified as mutants, regardless of who is doing the identifying.”

“I am aware of that,” Xavier admitted. “However, I do not see that we have much choice. Erik is seeking other mutants as well, and I fear that he will not be so respectful of their opinions.”

“That,” Hank agreed, “is a superb point.” He went back to work.

***

“Jean came home bawling her eyes out last night,” Warren Worthington III said to Scott Summers in the mansion’s library. Warren was a mutant. He was gifted with the ability to fly. Wings sprouted out of his back. Warren was built like a swimmer, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a lean waist. He had piercing blue eyes and artfully messy blond hair. Warren wore a blue blazer over a darker turtleneck and slacks.

Scott looked up over the book he was reading. Scott was built like a runner, lean and powerful. Carefully parted brown hair sat atop a chiseled face. He wore a brown suit with a white shirt and blue tie. Ruby-quartz sunglasses covered his eyes. Scott’s mutant power was the ability to project powerful beams from his eyes. Brain damage from his youth left the beams permanently on, forcing Scott to wear those sunglasses all the time.

“And?” he asked. Warren’s tone was accusing, and Scott didn’t like the implications.

“And a girl isn’t supposed to come home with tears in her eyes,” Warren said bluntly. “What happened at dinner last night, Scott?”

Scott fidgeted in his seat. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how much of what Jean told him last night he could share. “We talked,” Scott said.

“About what?” Warren demanded.

“Stuff,” Scott answered. “Personal stuff. Stuff that maybe I’m not allowed to share.”

“Ah,” Warren said. “Stuff like Annie?”

“How did you know about that?” Scott demanded.

“I did a little digging before Jean got here,” Warren admitted. “Annie was her best friend, right? And after she died, Jean spent a year in a mental hospital.”

“You’ve got to talk to her about that,” Scott said. “I’m serious, Warren. Jean did not give me permission to share anything about last night. Period.”

“Fair enough,” Warren  said with a shrug. “Believe me, I get that. I’m just glad to know she’s all right.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, returning to his book. He couldn’t help wonder if that was really true.

***

Jean Grey and Bobby Drake were playing _Pokken Tournament_. And Jean was getting her ass kicked up one side and down the other.

“You’re a dirty rotten cheater, Robert Drake!” Jean said as Bobby’s Lucario used her Pikachu as a punching bag. Jean was a seventeen-year-old girl with red hair, pale freckled skin, and green eyes. She had a runner’s build. A blue lacy blouse outlined a pair of firm breasts. She wore wide fit blue jeans and bright pink socks. Jean was a telekinetic and the newest student at Xavier’s school.

“It’s not my fault you suck,” Bobby replied. Bobby was a skinny sixteen-year-old with dyed ice blue hair and brown eyes. He wore a blue t-shirt that read ‘Ice, Ice, Baby’ and cargo pants. “I thought you said you’d played fighting games before?”

“Not as often as you, apparently!” Jean said as she tried desperately to save the fight. It was no use; Bobby was too good. Jean fumed silently as the game pronounced Lucario the winner.

“Next time, Jeannie,” Bobby said. “Best eight out of fifteen?”

“And continue my losing streak? No thanks,” Jean said. “Next time, Drake, though. Next time!”

“Uh-huh,” Bobby said. He didn’t seem all that concerned. Bobby got up and switched the console off. Turning to Jean, he asked:

“So? How did your date with Scott go last night?”

“Good!” Jean said, breaking into a delighted grin.

“Yeah?” Bobby said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Jean said. She raised her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rocked side to side. She grinned at Bobby. “You know, he’s not nearly as repressed as you told me,” she teased.

“Riiight,” Bobby said. “Um, Jean? That question wasn’t really about Scott. Warren said you came home last night bawling.”

“Warren’s jealous,” Jean said, dropping her legs back down.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Bobby said. “But I know Warren. He wouldn’t lie about a girl crying just to get in her pants.”

“You know Scott, too,” Jean shot back. “What makes you think he’d hurt me?”

“Scott’s not the only one who could have hurt you last night,” Bobby pointed out.

“That’s… true,” Jean admitted. “Nobody hurt me last night, Bobby,” she assured her friend. “Nobody.”

“So what happened?” Bobby asked. “I’m only asking because I’m your friend, Jean. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Scott’s your friend, too,” Jean said. She pulled her knees back up and rested her cheek against them. “We talked,” she said. “He told me about how Xavier found him, rescued him from that orphanage. And I told him about… about Annie.” Fresh tears rolled down her face. What was wrong with her? Even just mentioning her friend’s name was enough to start her crying again.

“Ah,” Bobby said. He walked back over to Jean and put his arm around her. Jean snuggled in closer, grateful for the human contact. She said:

“This will sound kind of weird, but the crying was actually the best part of the date. It was like… like I had a backpack with a boulder in it and I had been carrying it for so long  I didn’t even notice how heavy it was? But then I got rid of the backpack and it felt so good! Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, that makes total sense,” Bobby said. “Crying does a whole bunch of good things for your body.”

“But guys don’t cry,” Jean said.

“Nah, that’s not true,” Bobby said. “We don’t cry as easily as chicks do, maybe. But we still cry. Scott the most out of all of us.

“What? Oh!” Jean said. “His eyes.”

“Yeah, those optic beams of his constantly dry them out,” Bobby said.  “So Scott’s always crying, basically. You don’t see it much because the tears get vaporized by the beams.”

“Hmm,” Jean said. “So who cries the least?” she asked.

“Out of all of us?” Bobby said. “Probably Hank. Not that he’s insensitive, he just doesn’t cry very much. The professor, me, and Warren are all average criers.”

“That makes sense,” Jean said. “I could see Hank being kind of private and not letting people see when he’s hurt.”

“Nah, he just uses poetry instead,” Bobby said.

“Oh,” Jean said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I, until I met Hank,” Bobby said. They sat there quietly for a while before Bobby asked:

“So, are you still going to take up Warren on his offer?”

“Probably,” Jean said. “The thing is, Bobby, I’ve been here for a couple of months now and I don’t really know any of you. Sure, you and I hang out a bit but rarely. Until yesterday I’ve never had alone time with Scott or Warren or Hank.”

“I guess you’re feeling kind of isolated, huh?” Bobby said, his lips twisting into a grimace.

“It’s not your fault,” Jean assured him. “Well, okay it kind of is. But it’s my fault too. I haven’t made much of an effort to get to know any of you, either.”

“You did today,” Bobby said, gesturing towards the console. “The game was your idea.”

“Yeah, but I need to do more,” Jean said. “You can’t make friends if you wait for them to come to you.”

“That’s true,” Bobby admitted.

“Besides, if I come over more often it might inspire you to clean your room,” Jean said, glancing around the room.

“Eh, probably not,” Bobby said, following her gaze.

“Pig,” Jean said, elbowing him gently in the ribs. Bobby chuckled as he massaged a rib.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little porn,” he said primly.

“There’s more than a little, _Robert_ ,” Jean pointed out, gazing over the room once more. “And more than porn, too!” she added, pointing to a banana peel rotting over the edge of Bobby’s garbage can.

“Yeah, all right, I should clean that up,” Bobby said.

“Yes you should!” Jean said. Her watch beeped.

“I gotta go,” she said.

“Another hot date?” Bobby asked.

“No, studying,” Jean grimaced. “I want to get a head start on that bio paper.” She got up to leave.

“See ya,” Bobby waved as he turned back to his video games.

***

_Washington, D.C._

Telford Porter, the career criminal known as the Vanisher, stood outside a non-descript building in the middle of Washington. He wore a purple tunic with a large padded collar, pants, boots, and cape. Bulging bug-eyed goggles covered his eyes. Nobody paid much attention to him; this was Washington after all. Just as nobody paid any attention to the building Porter was casing.

 _To be fair, I wouldn’t expect this place to be a top secret research facility either,_ he thought, _if somebody hadn’t told me about it._

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the top secret data contained within that building. Top secret data Porter had been paid to acquire. Porter concentrated. His mutant power activated, teleporting him into the building’s main reception area.

“Um, sir?” the building’s desk sergeant said upon seeing a man in a funny purple costume suddenly appear before his eyes. Even for D.C. that was weird. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, I don’t think you can,” Porter answered, before vanishing once more. The desk sergeant hit the alarm.

***

Porter reappeared in a non-descript hallway, momentarily disoriented. He shook his head twice then looked around. According to the signage, he still wasn’t in the right corridor. But he was close. Another couple of jumps downward and he should be right where he wanted to be.

“Freeze!” a voice commanded from behind him. Porter turned around to see several heavily armed guards pointing their guns at him. He sneered. Such primitive tools.

“Hands where we can see them! Now!” one guard, presumably a commander of some sort, commanded.

“I think not,” Porter said and vanished once more.

“Oh shit,” one guard said. “We got another one of those freaks running loose?”

“Stow the talk corporal,” the captain said, “and find out where that asshole went!”

***

After two more jumps, Telford Porter found himself in the base’s Records Room. Which, to his surprise, was filled with filing cabinets.

 _Paper records?_ He thought. _Seriously, paper records? Didn’t these go out of fashion with the dinosaurs? Though I suppose you can’t lose them in a power outage…_

Porter searched the cabinets. It was tricky; his employer hadn’t warned him about the cabinets so he wasn’t sure where he should be looking. That the cabinets were locked was less of an issue. In one of his jumps he had come across an officer with a full set of keys. Porter knocked the officer out with a single blow and swiped the keys.

After rummaging through the cabinets for a while, Porter found what he was looking for. A good thing, too, because Porter could hear the soldiers massing outside the Records Room door.

It was time to leave.

***

Director Colonel (Ret.) Nicholas J. Fury of the newly created Strategic Hazard Intervention Enforcement Logistics Directorate stared out the window of his office on the hundredth floor of the Triskelion building. He was completely bald, with skin the colour of a T.V. screen turned off. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and black shoes. An eyepatch covered one eye.

“It was the Russians,” Deputy Director (Intelligence) Amanda Waller said from behind him. Waller was a large black woman in a black business suit. Her kinky hair was cut short. When Fury formed SHIELD, he got Waller’s Cadmus wholesale.

 _Probably so the Americans could exert more control over this project,_ he mused. _It certainly pissed off the Russians! Shame none of them can see the big picture here. Though I can’t wait to see their faces when they figure it out. A United Nations organization actually responsible to the international community? Don’t be absurd, Nick! That kind of thinking went out of fashion along with peaceful resistance and rule of law._

“We don’t know that,” Deputy Director (Law Enforcement) Maria Hill countered. Maria was not as dark-skinned as the other two, due to her mestizo heritage. Her dark brown hair was cropped short. She wore the blue bodysuit with white straps that had become SHIELD’s uniform. Nick had unabashedly stolen her from the FBI; the Feds, in turn, had dis-invited him from all their parties.

“Who else could it be, Maria?” Waller demanded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “We know the Russians are using costumed criminals for espionage…”

“Latveria, for one,” Hill interrupted, counting down on her fingers. “That Magneto character for another. Or Wakanda. They’re convinced the rest of the world is out to steal their vibranium, so it’d make sense they’d have an intelligence operation or two running. And then there’s Atlantis. Namor _hates_ the surface world.”

“The problem with all those possibilities Maritza is that none of them are actively hostile to _us_ ,” Waller countered. “Wakanda’s isolationist and xenophobic. Yes, Prince T’Challa is making his country more open, but that’s been small time and mostly peaceful. Helping refugees, delivering food, that sort of thing. Same with Atlantis. Hell, the same thing with Latveria of all places! Victor Von Doom as a peacemaker,” Waller said, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“I don’t disagree with your assessment, ‘Manda,” Hill said, “but we can’t rule any of those people out. Especially as _Russia_ is not exactly freak friendly. Putin, that bastard, has come down hard on people with powers. I find it kind of a stretch to think he would just out of the blue hire one for his dirty work.”

“Maybe,” Waller conceded.

“Besides,” Hill continued, “we can’t go around blaming Russia every time there’s an attack on the United States. That makes us look like a U.S. organization, not an international one.”

“That’s true too,” Waller admitted. “I just wish people would wake up and see what kind of Russia Putin’s building. Three new hagiographies of the man came out today. One from HuffPo, another from the New York times…”

“And a third from National Review,” Hill sighed. “I know, ‘Manda, I know. But as long as the States keeps blundering around and Putin keeps winning, people will keep singing his praises. Which doesn’t help us with our mysterious teleporter any.”

“I have an idea about that,” Fury said, turning around to sit at his desk. The desk, like the rest of the office, was a Spartan affair. Aside from the computer, there was nothing else on it. Not even personal decorations.

“What kind of idea, Nick?” Waller asked.

“Our friends out in Westchester,” Hill said. Fury nodded at her.

“What friends in Westchester?” Waller asked.

“You remember that new group of costumed vigilantes that showed up to help Spider-Man a while back?” Hill asked Waller.

“The guys in yellow and blue?” Waller asked. “Sure, what about them?”

“I know who they are,” Hill said. “They’re the students of Professor Charles Xavier, out in Westchester County, New York.”

“Salem Center, I remember,” Waller said. “I’m just not sure how you came to that conclusion.”

“Blue and yellow are the Xavier family colours,” Hill answered, once again counting down on her fingers. “Two, Xavier is a known mutant. The most powerful telepath in the world, in fact. Three, there aren’t many people with the resources to set up their own superhero team. Xavier is one of them. Four, he’s opened a private school called ‘Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters’ with _exclusive_ entrance requirements. Requirements that aren’t available to the public. Fifth, he recently purchased several WayneTech training dummies. Sixth, right now Xavier has five students, exactly the same as these ‘X-Men’.”

“Pretty circumstantial, Maritza,” Waller said, frowning.

“We’re not looking to bust Xavier in a court of law, ‘Manda,” Fury pointed out.

“No, but we could be wrong,” Waller said.

“We’re not,” Hill said. “There was an incident over at Fort Oswald two months back. Magneto’s team robbed the place at the same time Xavier was there. The commander can’t be sure, but he thinks Xavier’s students tried to stop them.”

“There’s also the fact that Xavier is a known mutant advocate, and he was Magneto’s lover back in the day,” Fury added.

“Exactly,” Hill agreed. “It may be circumstantial, ‘Manda. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I suppose,” Waller agreed.

“I don’t think we should bring them into this, however,” Hill continued. Fury blinked at her.

“Why not?” he asked.

“They’re not cops,” Hill answered. “Or soldiers or spies. They’re another bunch of civilians dressed up in funny costumes breaking the law. Xavier wants to run a school for mutants that’s fine. It’s maybe even a good idea. But they aren’t cops and shouldn’t act like cops.”

Fury glanced over to Waller. Waller shrugged.

“I’m not sure we can beat this weirdo without them,” she said. “ _I_ don’t have any tech that can stop a teleporter.”

“Neither do I,” Fury sighed. “We need Xavier, even if it’s just as a civilian consultant.”

“Relying on these superheroes will get us in trouble in the long run, sir,” Hill warned.

“Probably,” Fury agreed. “Although leaving them out in the cold isn’t necessarily a better idea. And don’t call me ‘sir’. We’ve known each almost as long as you and Waller have known each other!”

“Yes sir,” Hill said. Fury sighed and Waller hid a chuckle behind her hand. “Do you want me to send someone to talk with Xavier?” Hill continued.

“No, I’ll handle it myself,” Fury said. “I need to get out of Washington for a few days, anyway. The politicians here are killing me.”

“Amen,” the two women said.

***

“You’re too flashy,” the Russian agent told Porter.

“And you’re rather ungrateful for someone who’s just got an early Christmas present,” Porter countered.

The two men were in a small hideaway diner north of Washington. Porter had ditched his costume for a casual t-shirt and jeans look. The Russian agent was dressed similarly.

Porter looked out from the corner booth. It was easy to see why this diner wasn’t more popular.

“We’ve had experience dealing with costumed freaks like you,” the Russian agent said. “It has not ended well.”

“I’m better,” Porter said, stirring his disgusting black coffee. It looked like tar.

“That remains to be seen,” the agent said. “The money has been wired to your account. Have a good day.”

The agent got up and left. Porter waited a few minutes before he, too, left. Porter paid the bill before exiting the diner. It wouldn’t do for this lucrative job to fall apart because of some eat and run charge.

END CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:  
> Thar she blows! This is a more character focused chapter and there’s a good reason for that. Jean’s criticisms of her and the rest of the X-Men’s interactions is a criticism of my writing so far. Going forward, there is going to be a lot more scenes just with the X-Men (or the Brotherhood) interacting, because I feel that as a team, the X-Men aren’t really talking to each other very much. So more character interaction! And still some action. How do you all like the Vanisher? And of course, we get our first good look at SHIELD proper after teasing them in Amazing Spider-Man. For reference, this Nick Fury is based off MCU!Fury but Original!Fury will show up in this universe at some point. See you next time, true believers!
> 
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby. Nick Fury created by Stan "The Man" Lee and Jack "The King" Kirby. Amanda Waller created by John Ostrander, Len Wein, and John Byrne. Maria Hill created by Brian Michael Bendis.  
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon.
> 
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	12. Vanishing Varmints, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Climatic Conclusion! The X-Men are finally alerted to the menace of the Vanisher and race to confront the teleporting terror! Meanwhile, the Brotherhood of Mutants plot with their benefactor to protect mutant-kind! SHIELD takes its first shaky steps to becoming the pre-eminent peacekeeping force on Earth! Jean and Scott develop their relationship!
> 
> For this is an end! An end to easy adventures! War is coming to the X-Men! Will the lessons they learn this chapter be enough to save them in the future? Keep reading to find out, true believers!

The Uncanny X-Men: Vanishing Varmints, Part 3!

Jean Grey stood in the kitchen, watching the Yorkshire puddings cooking in the oven anxiously. They were her mother’s recipe, and she wanted to do justice to the family tradition.

Jean was a seventeen-year-old girl with an athletic build, red-gold hair and green eyes. Freckles dotted her pale face. She wore a blue sweater with scalloped edges over a white shirt, blue jeans and candy-cane striped socks. Over her clothes she wore a white apron. In her hands was a chef’s hat Bobby had given her as a joke that she was now twisting like string.

“Relax Jean. The Yorkshire puddings will turn out great,” Scott Summers said from behind her.

“Slim?” Jean said, not taking her eyes away from the oven.

“Yes, Jean?” Scott said.

“Not helping!” Jean retorted, still not taking her eyes away from the oven.

“Sorry,” Scott said, turning back to his own tasks.

Jean watched him through the reflection on the oven door. Scott was above average height, with a lean runner’s build and chiseled good features. He wore a dark blue golf shirt and slacks with loafers and white socks, which was the most casual Jean had ever seen him. His dark brown hair was perfectly parted. A pair of ruby-quartz sunglasses covered his eyes, preventing major destruction of the kitchen.

For both Scott and Jean were mutants, human beings born with fantastic powers. Jean was a telepath, capable of moving objects with her mind. Scott had the power to fire ruby-red concussive blasts from his eyes. Childhood trauma left him unable to control the blasts, forcing him to wear those ruby-quartz glasses all the time.

Jean and Scott were now both students at the Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, the world’s first and only school for mutants, though both had come to the school in vastly different ways. Scott was an orphan; the professor rescued him from a cruel and abusive orphanage long ago. Jean had been enrolled by her parents, who communicated with their daughter regularly.

Jean did not know what to make of Scott. He closed himself off from the other students, unless he was arguing with Warren, and had a reputation for being repressed that was well deserved. On the other hand, Scott was handsome with his all-American looks and hard runner’s body. And, Jean found, once you got past his barriers Scott was sensitive, thoughtful and caring. Jean enjoyed their previous date and was looking forward to more. Scott gave no sign either way.

The question in Jean’s mind was whether or not she wanted the next date to be a ‘date’ date or just a ‘hang out with friends’ date. She was sure Scott would accept either way; repressed though the young man may be, he made it clear both that he was interested in Jean and wouldn’t press her into anything she didn’t want.

Which was gentlemanly of him, to be sure, but it didn’t solve Jean’s problem. Jean didn’t want to pressure Scott either. And there was Warren to consider.

Warren Worthington III was the most beautiful man Jean had ever met. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and toned legs. His blond hair was always artfully tussled and he had piercing blue eyes. Like Jean and Scott he was a mutant. Warren’s power was the ability to fly on the white feathered wings that grew out of his back. And he was definitely interested in Jean.

But was Jean interested back? Warren _was_ gorgeous. And while he inspired all sorts of naughty thoughts in Jean, Scott made her feel safe and protected. The latter was better for a long term relationship, but Jean wasn’t sure that was what she wanted.

All these thoughts ran through her head as she watched the Yorkshire puddings cook. Jean wished Annie was here; her best friend understood boys and relationships better than Jean ever did. She knew that she could write her mother and ask for the elder Mrs. Grey’s help, but Jean felt nervous and embarrassed whenever she thought to write the subject down.

Still, Jean knew she would have to come to a decision sooner rather than later, for the sake of her own sanity if nothing else.

Someone reached out and touched her on the shoulder. Jean sank back into the touch, letting whoever it was embrace her. She looked up. It was Scott.

“Thanks, Slim,” Jean murmured, snuggling deeper into Scott’s chest.

“No problem,” Scott murmured back.

“Do mine eyes deceive me? Could the fair damsel have at long last melted the frozen heart of our fearless leader?” Hank McCoy said as he ambled into the room. Scott started, embarrassed and unsure of himself. Jean pulled him gently back into the embrace with her telekinesis and held him, a warm and reassuring hug of her own. Scott melted back into Jean.

Hank McCoy was a big man; broad-shouldered, with a broad waist and a barrel-chest; a blocky face, heavy brows and a downturned nose situated high above his mouth; bulging arms and legs; and blue-black hair. He wore an olive green t-shirt that said ‘There are 1 0 kinds of people in this world. Those who understand binary and those who don’t,’ and cargo pants. His feet were bare.  Hank, like Jean and Scott, was a mutant. He had super-strength, agility, and enhanced senses.

“Shut up, Hank,” Jean said, smiling and snuggling further into Scott.

“Hmph,” Hank said. “Nobody appreciates linguistic genius anymore. Such a shame. Tell me, Scott, how much longer until our nutritional interlude? Your antiphon will distract me from the lovely Jean’s pedestrian discrimination.”

“Hank, what has Bobby told you about using words nobody understands?” Jean asked.

Scott turned his head from Jean to check on the potatoes boiling on the stove. “The potatoes are still hard,” Scott said. “Give it another fifteen minutes, Hank?”

“Scott understood me,” Hank said, pointing his oversized finger at Scott.

“Scott,” Jean said turning her head up to look at the other student, “what have we said about encouraging Hank’s use of big words?”

“Don’t?” Scott said.

“Good boy,” Jean said. She turned back to watch her Yorkshire puddings with increasing anxiety.

***

The X-Men sat down to dinner, roast beef with all the trimmings.

“Smells good, Scott,” Jean said as she sat down.

“Thanks,” Scott said as he placed beef on each of his fellow students and the professor’s plate. Scott then sat down and dished himself some beef.

“Scott’s the master of roast beef,” Robert ‘Bobby’ Drake said as he dished up potatoes. Bobby was lean, short, with skinny shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair was short, spiked and dyed ice-blue. He wore a light blue t-shirt over blue jeans. Bobby’s mutant power was the ability to create ice and snow. “Cooking in general, really.”

“There’s a shock,” Warren said. He wore a light blue golf shirt and red dress pants with no socks or shoes. His feather white wings stuck out of his back so he sat in the only backless chair in the dining room. “The control freak being good at something needing meticulous timing? I might keel over from the shock.” Scott responded by tossing a dinner bun at Warren’s head.

“Boys,” Jean warned. Scott and Warren immediately looked guilty.

“Sorry, Jean,” they said.

Professor Xavier chuckled. “Perhaps we’ve found someone who can make these two behave at last,” he said. He wore a dark blue three-piece suit with a red tie and striped white shirt. The professor was bald with thin arching eyebrows and pointed ears

“Probably not,” Bobby chimed in.

“No, probably not,” Xavier agreed. “Robert, pass the potatoes will you?”

“Sure, professor,” Bobby said, handing the potatoes over to the professor. “Do you want the gravy, too?” he asked.

“Yes please, Robert,” Xavier said accepting the potatoes and gravy from Bobby. The professor dished up potatoes and gravy before passing them on to Hank, who ignored the gravy in favour of sour cream. Jean decided that looked good, so she imitated him.

“I think practice went well today,” Warren said, cutting into a slice of beef.

“Says the guy who went down in thirty seconds,” Scott countered.

“You were the one who set the pitching machine too high,” Warren said, jabbing his fork at Scott.

“It’s supposed to simulate automatic fire,” Scott insisted. “Not semi-auto. You can’t do that if the machine is set to one round every three years!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Warren snapped. “How do you expect any of us to dodge _machine gun_ fire?”

“I don’t,” Scott answered before putting a slice of beef in his mouth and chewing on it. After he was done, he continued: “I expect us to dodge the gunmen.”

Warren gaped at the lean brunet before returning to his own dinner, shaking his head angrily. Jean decided it was time for a change in topic.

“What’s next on the agenda, professor?” she asked. “Are there any other mutants to recruit?”

“Hank and I are working on getting Cerebero working,” Xavier said as he tucked into his own dinner. “With the machine amplifying my powers, we will be able to detect any mutants and hopefully reach before Magneto does. In the meantime, however, I expect you all to continue with your studies.”

“Yeah, I got a chem paper due tomorrow,” Bobby said while eating his beef and potatoes. “It’s done, I just got to hand it in.”

“For myself, it is a historical essay that is required in the early morning,” Hank said, scooping up some vegetables for his plate. “I am not as satisfied with my efforts as Bobby seems to be with his, however.”

“I can read it over with you if want,” Bobby offered.

“That would be excellent, thank you,” Hank said.

“What about you, Jean? Any papers due?” Scott asked as he followed Hank’s suit in scooping up vegetables.

“Nope!” Jean said. “I learned my lesson from last time. I handed in all my papers a week early.”

“The consequences of dating Scott Summers,” Warren sighed. “His brownnosing nature rubs off on you.”

“We’re not dating,” Scott said.

“Yet,” Jean corrected. “It’s… a little complicated,” she added for Warren’s benefit.

“I see that,” Warren said.

The rest of the dinner passed in polite conversation.

***

In the dining room of the Latverian Royal Palace, the dinner was not going as smoothly.

“You ever talk to my sister like that again, and I’ll kill you where you stand you mind raping freak!” Pietro Maximoff, known as Quicksilver, said, jabbing a fork at the man across the table from him.

Pietro was of average height, with a lean body, shoulders a little wider than his hips and an oblong face. He wore a dark green tuxedo, and had slicked back silver hair.

His opponent was Jason Wyngarde, known as Mastermind. Jason was taller and lankier than Pietro, with a lean, sour face. He had stringy brown hair, an ugly mustache and wore a purple tux that had seen better days. He sneered at his younger opponent.

“You’re awfully protective of her, Pietro,” Jason sneered. “Afraid somebody will steal her away from you?”

“Why you!” Pietro said, clambering onto the table.

“Enough!” their host, Latveria’s dictator Doctor Victor von Doom shouted. Pietro and Jason turned uneasily towards the doctor before sitting back down.

Victor von Doom as a sight to behold. He wore metallic body armour covered in rivets and a green cloak with a hood. On his face mask where three slits: one for the mouth and two for the eyes, the only indication of the man underneath.

“If your Brotherhood cannot control themselves, Erik,” Doom said, turning to the man on his left, “they will not be invited to my dinner table anymore.”

“I apologize, Victor,” the man said. “They will be punished for their rudeness afterward. For now, let us enjoy the meal.”

Pietro glared at his father. Erik Lehnsherr, known as Magneto, had silver hair like his son, though in Erik’s case it was due to age. Erik was a tall, well-built man with a deep-lined face and dark brown eyes. He wore a plum-coloured tuxedo with a red vest and bowtie.

Beside Pietro, Wanda Maximoff, known as the Scarlet Witch, reached out for her twin brother’s hand. Wanda had a round face, red-brown eyes, light skin, auburn hair, narrow shoulders and a broad waist. She wore a dark red dress.

“It’s okay, Pietro,” Wanda whispered. “I can take care of myself.”

Pietro nodded, lowering his head back down to his plate. The meal was some traditional Latverian delicacy. Pietro stabbed the food with his fork like a medieval peasant bringing down a boar for his master’s plate.

“Do you think Colonel Fury will succeed?” Erik asked Victor as he tucked into his dinner.

“He already has,” Doom sighed. “The Americans gave their support earlier this month. Russia left the Security Council in protest over Clinton’s election, so they were not there to veto the decision. The rest of the Security Council seems to be onboard.”

“And so we have an international security organization run entirely by Americans,” Magneto said, taking a sip of red wine from the glass at his elbow.

“Stupid gits,” Mortimer “Toad” Toynbee sneered. Toad was squat, with a broad face, sickly green skin, warts, bulging eyes and limp brown hair. He wore an ugly orange suit with a bright green necktie. “What do they think they’re doin’, lettin’ the Yanks have all the power?”

“Quiet, Toad!” Magneto snapped.

“It’s a fair question, Erik,” Doom said. “Especially given that all three of SHIELD’s commanders are not only Americans, but Americans that aren’t particularly liked by their government.”

Pietro lifted his head from his plate. “What does that mean?” he demanded.

Doom turned his metal head to the speedster and answered: “Colonel Nicholas J. Fury is not a friend of the Clinton administration. Nor of that fool Trump. He has been warning the Americans for decades about Putin’s aggression, for one thing. Worse, he verbally and publicly decried American policy in the Middle East and their military in general. In Fury’s view, America is no longer the pre-eminent military power in the world. It is a bad joke, easily defeated by any enemy with a modicum of sense and patience.”

Pietro stared at the Latverian dictator, for once in his life stunned speechless. “And this is the guy who won the war in Iraq for them,” he said after a minute or two.

“An unforgivable error,” Doom agreed, tenting his hands.  “Once Fury was placed in charge of the Iraq War, Daesh had no hope. They fell within weeks. Worse, Fury managed to clean up Afghanistan and Syria in the same campaign. The American military were revealed to be bumbling incompetents, their supporters and detractors at home gutted by a single man. A _black_ man no less, which was Fury’s most unforgivable act.”

The mutants at Doom’s table all snorted. Doom paused for a minute before continuing:

“The other two are no less embarrassing. Maria Hill, one of the FBI’s top agents, discovered Russian interference in both Brexit and the American election.”

“But isn’t that a good thing?” Pietro asked, frowning. “I mean, who wants Trump as a president? And I’m not a fan of the EU, but c’mon. Britain doesn’t have a prayer without it!”

“Agreed,” Doom said. “Except for the fact that Hill discovered Russian disinformation campaigns targeting anti-Trump and anti-Brexit forces as well. Disinformation campaigns designed to provoke those forces and convince them to take violent action against their opponents. Disinformation campaigns whose existence cast serious doubt on whether or not Clinton actually won the election. And there’s Amanda Waller, head of the clandestine organization known as Cadmus. Waller is an enigmatic figure, prone to staying out of the spotlight and refusing to engage in the normal political corruption of Washington. Worse, she rarely if ever discusses her work with Congress, even when she is legally required to.”

“She also has a bad habit of assuming her supporters are using her for their own ends and putting them under investigation,” Magneto added, taking another sip of wine.

Pietro frowned. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m with Toad,” he said. “What the hell were these people thinking?”

“They’re thinkin’ Russia’s the biggest bully in the playground,” Fred ‘the Blob’ Dukes said through a mouthful of food. Fred stood over six feet tall; with broad shoulders; a massive gut; thick, stumpy legs and oversized arms. Somehow, Doom’s tailors had found a tux that fit Fred. “An’ they want an even bigger bully to protect ‘em. So they got this Fury guy, who won their last war, to fight for ‘em. If he loses, who cares? They always said he was a loser. If he wins, then they knew he had it in him all along. That’s why they picked him for the job.”

Pietro stared at Fred. Fred kept to himself in the Brotherhood, either eating or reading a dirty mag or both. Pietro always assumed the big guy was stupid; a mistake Pietro swore he wouldn’t make twice.

“An apt and succinct analysis, Mr. Dukes,” Doom said.

“Either way,” Jason said, “we don’t have to worry about it. Fury’s too ambitious for his own good. SHIELD will take years to set up, if it ever does get off the ground.”

“I would not be so sanguine if I were you, ‘Mastermind’,” Doom countered. “SHIELD is Fury’s pet project, his magnum opus. He has been working on it for years, building connections and alliances. I would not be surprised if SHIELD sprang into existence tomorrow, fully formed.” A faint sneer flickered across Jason’s face. Doom either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he turned to Erik and said:

“We must move up the timetable.”

“We are not ready to invade Genosha,” Erik countered.

“Invade?” Pietro asked, shocked.

“Invade,” Erik answered. “I trust you do not have any objections, Pietro?”

“Of course not. How could I possibly have any objections to invading another country? I mean, it’s not like humanity isn’t already planning to unleash a legion of killer robots at us. Or think we’re going to kill them all and replace them,” Pietro said.

“Watch your tone, boy,” Erik snapped.

“Pietro’s right, Father,” Wanda interjected. “Invading another country, any other country, isn’t going to make humanity hate us less.”

“Who cares if they hate us or not, doll?” Jason sneered. “We can crush the flatscans with a flick of our finger.”

“What good are illusions going to be against nukes, dumbass?” Pietro countered.

Jason turned on Pietro in fury. Before he could say anything, Toynbee piped up.

“We don’t need Wyngarde’s illusions, we have Magneto!” he said.

“Nothing personal, pops, but you aren’t always around,” Pietro said. “And if they launch enough nukes, even you would lose. This has bad idea written all over it.”

Erik glared at his son for a while longer before turning to Victor and admitting:

“Pietro is insolent and childish, but he has a point. Unless Latveria, Wakanda and Atlantis are willing to back us openly, Genosha remains out of reach. For now.”

“For now,” Victor agreed. “I am willing to support a takeover of that fascistic stronghold, but both Wakanda and Atlantis have declined. I can understand their reasoning to an extent. Genosha is heavily fortified and well thought of in the international community. A… _resort_ nation, nothing more. That Genosha’s wealth is created and maintained by an enslaved populace is a secret known only to a few. An attack would draw condemnation or worse, retaliation. No, Erik. You and your children are quite correct. Genosha is out of the question, for now.”

“So how do we step up the timetable?” Pietro demanded. “Knock over Trask Industries?”

“There’s a thought,” Victor answered before Magneto could upbraid his son over the latter’s insolence again. “One we must keep in mind. However, I have a different idea in mind.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Doom,” Pietro said. “Out with it already!”

“Pietro!” Erik bellowed. Beside her brother, Wanda facepalmed. Victor waved off his dinner guest.

“You and the young Mr. Storm would get along well, Mr. Maximoff,” Victor said. “You both lack a certain degree of patience. The answer to your question is simple. I propose a trial run for Genosha. I am in contact with revolutionary groups in the island nation of San Marco, in South America. Like Genosha, their government is oppressive and fascistic in the extreme. Unlike Genosha, the evil nature of San Marco is well known in the international community, and the United Nations has entertained several serious proposals to intervene in a military sense already. This will make it unlikely for any American or Russian interference.”

“Especially if we’re just helping out the locals,” Pietro agreed. “I can see why your people keep you around, Doom. You aren’t as stupid as you look.”

“Toad!” Wanda exclaimed. “Get your tongue off me!”

The resulting brawl ended any hope of a civilized dinner.

***

The next day, the X-Men assembled in Professor Xavier’s office. The professor looked grim. On his desk sat a bizarre looking helmet.

“What is it, sir?” Scott asked.

“Ever since our clash with Erik and his Brotherhood, Hank and I have been working on revitalizing Cerebro,” Xavier said.

“That’s that mutant detection thingy, right?” Bobby asked.

“Your butchery of the English language aside,” Hank answered, “you are correct, Bobby. It really is a fascinating device. You see, the professor places the helmet on his head…”

“We don’t need the technical details, Hank,” Warren said, cutting his friend off.

“My apologies for attempting to enlighten you Neanderthals to the finer points of engineering, Warren,” Hank sniffed.

“Don’t listen to him, Hank,” Bobby said. “It’s not bird-brains fault he can’t understand the technical stuff. That’s just part of his mutation.”

“Quite,” Hank said.

“Did Cerebro detect something, Professor?” Jean asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the subject at hand and cut off Warren’s furious retort towards Hank and Bobby.

“I am afraid it did, Jean,” Xavier said.

“Is it Pietro and Wanda?” Scott asked. Jean noted the sudden concern in Scott’s voice.

“No, wherever Erik and his forces are, they are out of my range,” the professor said, “even with Cerebro. I am afraid we have another mutant menace to humanity we have to contend with.”

“Peachy,” Warren said, a sour look on his face.

“Do you know who it is, Professor?” Jean asked.

“I do not,” Xavier said. “I was only able to obtain the briefest glimpse of his mind. I did, however, learn his special power.”

“Well don’t keep us in suspense, Professor,” Bobby said. “What can our fellow merry mutant do?”

“He is a teleporter,” Xavier replied. “And one of considerable skill. From what I have gathered, he has already broken into a least one bank and one top-secret military installation, both times without harming anyone or leaving any of evidence of his existence. I would be surprised if these were the extent of his crimes.”

“They’re not,” Scott said, cupping his chin in his hand.

“And you know this because?” Warren asked.

“The Daily Bugle,” Scott answered. “And the Daily Planet, too. Ever since that ‘Superman’ character showed up, there’s been a lot of weird crimes. Crimes that aren’t possible without powers.”

“People are using their powers more openly now,” Jean agreed. “That makes sense, we’ve already seen that with the Brotherhood. And ourselves, really. But I think what Warren’s getting at Scott is, how do you connect those crimes to this one guy?”

“How does someone so smart fall for a guy like Scott?” Warren asked. Jean shot him an annoyed glance before turning back to Scott.

“Most of them probably aren’t connected,” Scott answered. “We can rule out any crimes those costumed weirdos in Gotham committed, for example. Or guys like the Parasite in Metropolis or the Vulture in New York. _But_ , there are a few bank robberies I can think of that fit the pattern the professor described. Like that one in Houston, Texas a few months back.”

“I remember hearing about that, yeah,” Bobby said, shaking a finger at Scott in agreement. “Bank opened up one morning and found they were missing half a million dollars or something, right? And nobody could figure out how the crook got in or out!”

“I remember that too,” Jean said, turning to Bobby. “Didn’t the Houston Chief of Police reject Superman’s help in solving the case? Something about humans not needing alien freaks?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said, disgusted. “Shot his approval rating through the roof, too. Bigoted bastard.”

“Personal failings of Houston’s supreme judicial enforcer aside,” Hank interjected, “how would the Metropolis Marvel have aided in the investigation? From what he has revealed of his powers, I do not believe they would aid in rooting out a teleporting terror.”

“That’s a good point,” Warren agreed. “And it brings up a better one. How are _we_ going to stop this guy? I assume that’s why you’re telling us this, Professor,” he added, nodding at Xavier. Xavier nodded back.

“We can’t let this guy go, Warren,” Scott answered. “He’s a criminal. Worse, a spy.”

“Probably for Russia, given just how bad things between Putin and Clinton have gotten,” Jean agreed.

“I suspect our dissipating delinquent is of a more mercenary bent, given his predilection for banal burglary,” Hank said.

“Which just means he ain’t picky about who his clients are,” Bobby pointed out.

“True,” Hank agreed. “Latveria, Atlantis, Wakanda…none would object to acquiring American military secrets. Even those we count amongst our allies would likely pay handsomely for such valuable information.”

“I agree with all of that,” Warren said. “I even agree that we’re the best option to stop this guy. I just don’t know how.”

“You will need to find out quickly,” Xavier said. “My fleeting glimpse into his mind discovered our teleporter’s next target. A military installation not far from here. Go! You only have a few hours to catch him.”

“We’re on it, Professor,” Scott said. “Come on, everybody. Let’s suit up.”

***

Telford Porter was having the time of his life. His Russian client was willing to pay nearly five million for this final job, a job Porter could do in his sleep!

Porter walked up to the secret military base in Yonkers, a dull squat building in the middle of several shops in Getty Square. Why the military insisted on keeping this base secret, Porter would never know. As far as Porter knew, it was a records building; a place where the military kept hardcopies of information stored in digital databases. Not exactly high on the list for disruption. Then again, the Russians seemed to think there was something here they couldn’t get elsewhere, so what did Porter know?

Porter got some strange looks as he walked through downtown Yonkers, but not as many as he should have given what he was wearing. Porter wore a purple cape with an upturned collar over a purple tunic and pants; purple boots and gloves and a domino mask with bug-eyed lenses. He was bald, with a lean sour face.

Porter stopped short of military base. There in front of him, were five teenagers dressed in yellow body suits with blue sleeves and pant legs; yellow gloves and boots and blue cowls. Yellow belts with blue X’s on their buckles cinched their waists. Their apparent leader, whose costume included a yellow visor with a red lens, stepped forward.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said, in a commanding voice that belied his obvious youth, “but I do know why you’re here. You’re not stealing anything else today.”

“Who the hell are you people?” Porter demanded.

“We’re the X-Men,” the leader said. “We protect the world from people who abuse their powers. People like you.”

“The X-Men, huh?” Porter said. “That’s not very PC,” he added, pointing to the obvious female of the group. “Wouldn’t something like ‘X-People’ be better? Or, I know, the ‘X-I’m Way Too Young To Be Ripping Off Superman Group’?”

“Surrender,” the leader said, “and you won’t be harmed.”

“That is so cliché even the cops don’t use it anymore, kid,” Porter said. “But where are my manners? I’m the Vanisher, and I’m going to walk right into that building and steal whatever I want. So I suggest you back off kid, before somebody gets hurt.”

“No,” the leader said.

“Fine,” Porter shrugged, and teleported past the group. As soon as he touched down inside the building, however, something grabbed him and tossed him back outside. Porter was so surprised he forgot to vanish in mid-air and landed hard on the cement.

“I’m afraid, you evaporating evil-doer, that your time has come,” another one of the X-Men said. This guy was big, built more like a gorilla than a human being, and his boots had toes.

Porter figured his enemies were mutants, like him. He also figured that he knew at least two of their powers. The leader, with the visor, probably had some kind of eye-beam power. The gorilla, on the other hand… well, his powers were obvious. That left the other three.

“Did you swallow a thesaurus or something, big guy?” Porter asked to buy himself some time as he picked himself up off the ground.

“That’s Beast,” a voice said from Porter’s left. Porter turned to face the incoming voice to find a snowman rushing up to him. A quick blast of ice from the snowman encased Porter’s feet in ice. “And yeah, he kind of did swallow a thesaurus,” the snowman added.

“If he’s Beast, what does that make you? Jack Frost?” Porter asked, trying to tug his boots free. At least his boots were keeping his feet warm. Porter had frost bite once before; he was in no hurry to repeat the experience.

“Call me Iceman,” the snowman said. “Cause you’ve just been iced. Get it? You’ve been iced?”

“Work on your material kid,” Porter answered. He decided to hell with it and vanished from the ice, taking his boots with him. He didn’t go far, just enough to catch his breath.

Porter considered his options. He was in trouble, and he knew it. These ‘X-Men’ knew what he was after, even if they didn’t know who he was. Which meant somebody on the Russian side of things had talked. Could they have set him up? It was possible. It would explain the five million dollar price for raiding a glorified library. Easy to promise the world when you have no intention of delivering.

Unfortunately, that meant the X-Men were unlikely to go away anytime soon. Worse, they would almost certainly turn him over to the American authorities. Porter wasn’t interested in facing the consequences of espionage, thank you very much!

But he couldn’t just leave, either. The Russians would kill him if they though he was a liability or if he failed in his mission for them. So he had to get past the X-Men. Something their powers made difficult.

A guy with eye-beams. Another with super-strength and agility. A third with ice powers that would make his old friend Captain Cold jealous. A quick glance up above told Porter that the fourth guy with wings really could fly. Porter wasn’t sure what the girl could do, but he was sure he didn’t want to find out.

 _Telford Porter, why didn’t you listen to your mother and become an accountant? You could have robbed people all day long legally! No, you had to get a costume and play super-villain. Dumbass_ , Porter admonished himself. The girl approached him.

“Please,” she said. “We don’t want to hurt you. But we can’t let you steal… whatever it is you’re trying to steal, either. If you’re worried about your clients or whatever, we can protect you.”

“You’re sweet, kid,” Porter said. “Find a different line of work.” With that, he vanished once again… only to be pulled out of his disappearing act and slammed into the ground.

 _Well that answers that question!_ Porter thought. _The chick’s telekinetic! Now how the hell am I going to get out of this one?_

***

Scott fired an optic blast at the point where the Vanisher reappeared, forcing the criminal to pull another hasty disappearing act. This time, straight into Warren’s waiting arms.

The Vanisher didn’t know it, but Professor Xavier was using Cerebro to enhance his powers and coordinate with X-Men, predicting exactly where the Vanisher would teleport to next.

It was all part of Scott’s plan. As much as Scott would never want to admit it, Warren had made a good point about stopping a teleporter back at the mansion. Scott figured, though, that the Professor with the aid of Cerebro could predict where the Vanisher was going and get that information to the X-Men first. Xavier agreed, and added his own twist to the plan: if the X-Men could keep the Vanisher busy long enough, then the Professor could get a firm enough grasp on the teleporter’s mind to put him to sleep. On that score, the X-Men were doing a good job.

“Return at once, you vanishing varmint!” Hank shouted as the Vanisher managed to slip through both his and Warren’s arms.

“Can it with alliteration, will you?” the Vanisher said. He sounded tired. Scott grinned as sweat poured down his mask. He knew the X-Men were getting tired, too, but he figured the five of them together had more than enough stamina to outlast the Vanisher.

“He can’t help it,” Bobby said as he arced around the Vanisher on his slide to hit the teleporter with snowballs. “He’s an engineer. They’ve all got warped senses of humour!”

“Thank you for your support, Frozen Precipitation Man!” Hank said as he cannonballed into the Vanisher, who had teleported out of the way of Bobby’s snowballs. The Vanisher hit the ground hard. As he shakily pulled himself up, Professor Xavier’s mental voice rang in the X-Men’s heads:

_Well done, my X-Men! Thanks to your efforts, I have managed to acquire a firm grasp on the Vanisher’s mind. I will now put him to sleep._

The Vanisher wobbled on his two legs. “I’m never making fun of teenagers again,” he said. Then he slumped down to the ground, fast asleep.

“Well, _that_ was fun,” Bobby said as he came down from his ice slide near Scott. “You know, for a skinny old guy, that Vanisher character sure packs a wallop!”

“Indeed,” Hank said. Hank’s lip was split open from a punch the Vanisher had thrown, and it bled profusely. The big guy ambled over to the Vanisher and hoisted him over his shoulder before returning to Scott and Bobby and dumping the Vanisher on the ground. “Clearly our fading foe has experience with pugilism.”

“You can say that again,” Warren said as he landed beside the other three. “He could’ve given some welterweight boxers I know a run for their money.”

“I think he was a boxer,” Scott said, looking down at their defeated foe. “Or at least had some training in the sport.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Warren agreed. He looked around. “Where’s Jean?”

“Over here,” Jean said from off to Scott’s right. The X-Men turned around to see Jean limping toward them, grimacing in pain.

“Jean!” Scott shouted and raced towards her, Warren not far behind. Scott reached her first, despite Warren’s advantage. Scott put her arm around his shoulder to support, Warren doing the same thing on the other side.

“I’m all right guys, really,” Jean protested, but Scott could hear the relief in her voice once the weight they took the weight off her leg. “I just sprained my ankle during the fight, that’s all.”

“Here, let me put some ice on it,” Bobby said, running towards Jean. Before he could get to her, someone threw a bottle at his head.

“Hey!” Bobby said, whirling around. “That isn’t funny! Who threw that?”

Scott now noticed a crowd had formed during the fight. No, not a crowd. A mob. An angry mob, muttering darkly, swinging chains and tapping pipes against their palms.

“Mutie freaks!” one of the mob shouted.

“Monsters, all of them!” another echoed.

“Let’s kill the fuckers!” another added.

“We’re in trouble,” Warren whispered to Scott. “All of us are banged up from the fight with the Vanisher, and Jean’s got a bad ankle. We can’t fight and we can’t retreat.”

“I know,” Scott replied, his mind going at a thousand miles an hour, trying to find a way out of this one. _Professor?_ he asked.

 _I am working on it, Scott,_ Xavier replied. _See if Warren can fly Jean out of there while I concentrate on calming the crowd down_.

Scott turned to Warren and Jean and repeated what the professor told him. They both nodded, grimly aware of just how bad their situation was.

Any reluctance Scott had in putting Jean in Warren’s care was overridden by his instinctive need to see her safe. He slipped out from under her shoulder, letting Warren pick her up. He marched over to the front of the crowd while Warren beat his wings to generate lift. Before Warren could take off, however, an authoritative voice shouted from behind the mob.

“All right, all right! Break it up! Break it up! This is a SHIELD crime scene!” The mob reoriented itself to reveal a dark-skinned, oval faced woman in a skin-tight dark blue outfit with white accents and a black trench coat. Scott recognized her as Maria Hill, the newly confirmed Deputy Director (Law Enforcement) of SHIELD.

“You don’t have any authority here, SHIELD bitch!” a burly male member of the crowd shouted back. Scott winced, expecting a vicious reaction from the veteran law enforcement officer. Hill instead arched an eyebrow at the offender and asked:

“And who’s going to stop me, pendejo? You?” The burly man scowled for a moment, then ran away, his tail tucked between his legs. The crowd followed suit. Hill shook her head, rolled her eyes and walked up to the X-Men.

“I miss dealing with the BLM,” she complained. “At least they had some guts. These right wing assholes are all smoke and no fire. I suppose I should I introduce myself. I’m Deputy Director Maria Hill of SHIELD.”

“We know who you are, Director Hill,” Scott replied. He figured Hill was a good six inches shorter than him, but he was still intimidated by the older woman. She radiated an icy authority that made Scott feel as small and insignificant as a mouse before a blizzard. “We’ve seen your pictures on the news.”

“And those pictures do not do your beauty justice at all,” Warren said, still holding Jean. Most of Jean’s face was concealed by a cowl, but the look she shot Warren was unmistakeable. Hill’s ice-cold glance of rejection was even less ambiguous.

“And you are?” she asked Scott.

“I’m Cyclops,” he answered. “I’m the, uh, field leader of the X-Men. Which is who we are.” Scott felt anxious and small; he tripped over his words.

Hill nodded. “I don’t like ‘super-heroes’,” she said, pacing in front of Scott. “I think you’re criminals, do you understand? Who appointed you to catch this Vanisher, hmm?”

“No one,” Scott admitted.

“No one,” Hill repeated. “You aren’t contractors, paid to protect this place. You aren’t a posse, duly deputized by the local sheriff or marshal. And you’re certainly not regular law enforcement. You’re private citizens, taking the law into your own hands.” She paused, her back turned to Scott. “Still, thank you,” she said, turning her head back to Scott. “SHIELD is new. We don’t have enough experience with superpowers yet. It’s unlikely we could have stopped the Vanisher without your help.”

“We?” Scott asked. Hill whistled in response and a platoon of heavily armed SHIELD agents appeared out of nowhere.

“Remind me not to piss off SHIELD,” Bobby muttered. Hill nodded.

“The walking snowman is wise,” she said. “But we’re not your enemy, either.”

“Prove it,” Scott said, putting some bite into his voice to overcome his fear. “We’ve run into some disturbing rumours lately. Rumours about topic-secret anti-mutant weapons being developed by the military. How do we know you aren’t involved? And you saw that crowd. They would have killed us on the spot if you hadn’t shown up. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you stopped them, but I don’t know how far I can trust you.”

Hill nodded and turned to look at Jean and Warren. “Is your friend here injured?” she asked.

“Just a sprained ankle,” Jean replied. “I’ll be fine.” The part of her face that was visible under the cowl was wan and drawn.

“We can bandage that up,” Hill said, “make it hurt a little less.”

Scott hesitated. Warren hissed: “Cyclops, what are you doing? Je-Marvel Girl’s injured, she needs help.”

“I’m fine,” Jean declared. “It’s just a sprained ankle, Angel, I don’t need you to baby me.”

“We can’t trust these guys, Fearless,” Bobby said. “Fury, Waller and Hill are serious trouble. You, me and Beast: we blow through these guys and high tail it out of here. We can help Jean better from home.”

“We are in no shape to fight or flee,” Hank protested. “None of us are, least of all Jean. I do not trust Fury’s miscreants any more than the Iceman does, but we do not have a choice here!”

Still Scott hesitated, unsure of what to do. Hill turned back to him fully and pierced him with those frozen brown eyes of hers.

“I know how hard it is to trust one of your own, a part of your familia, to a stranger,” she told him. “Especially a stranger you have good reason to distrust. I’ve had to do it before, I will have to do it again, and it never gets easier. You never shake the feeling that you’ve betrayed them, or that you should have been better. Believe me, I understand. And I don’t have any hard evidence I can use to convince you. All I can do is ask you trust me. At least far enough to help your friend.”

Scott hesitated for a second more before sighing in defeat and saying:

“Okay, Director. You win. You can bandage Marvel Girl up. And,” he added, turning to the still-sleeping Vanisher, “I suppose you can take the Vanisher, too. We sure don’t have a place to hold him.”

Hill nodded at Scott. The SHIELD agents took that as a signal and rushed forward, some to restrain the Vanisher and others to help Jean. Hill stood beside Scott and watched as her agents did their work.

“I managed to catch some of the fight,” Hill said. “Your team was impressive, though they took their share of hits. How did you manage to predict where the Vanisher would be throughout the fight?”

“Trade secret,” Scott answered, folding his arms across his chest. Hill scared him, but he also admired her. Admired the way she stared down and broke the mob without the threat of force, and the way she manipulated him into letting her help. He understood, then and there, why Fury wanted her on his team.

“Fair enough,” Hill answered. It did not take long for her agents to finish with the Vanisher or with Jean. As the agents packed up, Hill dug a business card out of her pocket and handed it to Scott.

“I’m still not sold on the idea of superheroes,” she said, “but you and your team handled themselves well today. There might be a place for you in this business after all.” With that, Hill left, the Vanisher in tow.

“What now?” Warren asked.

“Now we go home,” Scott answered.

***

As Hill drove away in her armoured car, a call came through on SHIELD’s secure line.

“Deputy Director Hill,” she answered.

“Hi, Maria,” Fury replied. “I’m still stuck here in Washington, but I got an angry call from the New York FBI office about you hijacking a federal investigation?”

Hill snorted. “We found our teleporter, sir,” she said. “Actually, the ‘X-Men’ found him first; we intercepted the call and got here as quick as we could. The FBI dismissed it as a hoax.”

“And now they’re attacking you for doing their job,” Fury said. “I wish I could say I was surprised. Did you get a hold of our friends, then? I know we discussed me doing it, but that was before I got bogged down in the Clinton-Republican gang war.”

“No sir. I was in New York setting up a field office of our own,” Hill replied. “The X-Men got there first, even before the ‘Vanisher’, our teleporter, did. They were waiting for him when he appeared and fought him until he wore himself out and collapsed. Then a mob showed up and tried to kill them all, both the X-Men and the Vanisher. That’s when I showed up and… convinced the mob to disperse. The X-Men and I talked, they let me take the Vanisher away and now I’m driving back to New York.”

“They let you take him? Just like that?” Fury asked.

“No sir,” Hill replied. “Their leader, Cyclops, clearly did not trust me at all. One of the X-Men even advocated forcing their way through our lines. In the end, I think Cyclops only let us take the Vanisher because the X-Men don’t have place to hold them of their own and they didn’t want him to get away again.”

“Makes sense,” Fury agreed. “What about you? What do you think about this team of mutants?”

Hill shrugged, even though Fury couldn’t see the gesture. “You know how I feel about superheroes, sir,” she said. “But these people do have potential. If we could recruit them… but first, we’d have to prove we’re trustworthy.”

“That anti-government suspicion runs deep, huh?” Fury said.

“They mentioned anti-mutant superweapons, sir,” Hill said, “being developed by the military. That could be what these thefts are all about.”

Fury was silent for a moment. “It probably is,” he said heavily. “Okay Hill. Get back to the Triskelion as fast as you can. I think our trouble has just started.”

***

“Scott Summers, you have magic hands,” Jean sighed as she relaxed on an overstuffed chair in the professor’s detached smoke room on the rear of his grounds. Scott was currently rubbing a weed-based pain reliever into her ankle. SHIELD’s medics had bandaged her up pretty good, but she still hurt all the way to the mansion. Scott, at Jean’s insistence, had helped her out of her costume and into her fuzzy blue pyjamas. Now she relaxed with the other X-Men in the smoke room as they healed from the day’s injuries.

“Thank you,” Scott muttered as he continued to rub her ankle. Jean cracked an eye open at the older student. She could sense his nervousness and reservation at being so openly affectionate in public, and Jean was grateful that he was pushing his boundaries. A large purple bruise was beginning to form above his right eye. He, too wore, pyjamas, a plain white pair.

“Scott Summers, the mutant of many talents,” Bobby said tiredly from another overstuffed chair across from Jean’s. Bobby was the least bruised of all the X-Men, due to his snow form protecting him. He wore his usual ice-blue t-shirt and shorts combination. Beside him, Warren snored gently in a different chair, dressed in a fuzzy bathrobe of his own. Warren had earned a nasty cut over his left eye during the fight that was very slowly healing. At least the professor had managed to close it.

“Not that many,” Scott replied.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jean said, smiling happily. “You can outthink teleporters, cook, and massage a woman’s feet. That seems like a lot of talents to me! I’d better stake my claim before some other woman gets you,” she teased, causing Scott to blush. Jean laughed. She was giddy and high, and she knew it, but after the fight they’d just had, she didn’t feel guilty. What could be better than being in the company of friends, relaxing after a job well done?

“Leave the poor man alone Jean,” Hank said. He, like Bobby, was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. Unlike Bobby, there was a mess of bruises on his face. The group bong sat beside him. “He’s not used to showing human emotions in public.” Scott scowled at Hank. Jean laughed again.

It was good to be an X-Man.

END CHAPTER

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a ride and a half. This chapter started out, I kid you not, as a character chapter. There wasn't supposed to be any action in it at all. And then, you know, I just had to write the fight scene against the Vanisher. And I think it's my best action scene yet.
> 
> So, a couple of things:
> 
> -In the comics, the Vanisher beat the X-Men the first time they clashed. I shortened it here because I thought my version of the arc was dragging on as it was, and I want to get into the meet of this book. The next arc, guys. You're gonna love it.
> 
> -The Brotherhood of Mutants! Yes, Erik and his motley crew are back, plagued with infighting and hate as they always are. In the next couple of arcs, they will become more important, but I felt it was necessary to re-introduce them here.
> 
> -We now have seen three sides of the eternally multifaceted Maria Hill. Cop, friend and vulnerable woman. Now all we need to do is see her kick ass in a truly righteous fashion, and all will be good!
> 
> -I haven't quite got the hang of giving characters their own voice yet, either here or in my pro-fiction. But I'm getting there, and I think this chapter is a marked step in the right direction.
> 
> That's all for now folks! Tune in next time as we continue the wild adventures of Marvel's Merry Mutants!
> 
> ***
> 
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby. Nick Fury created by Stan "The Man" Lee and Jack "The King" Kirby. Doctor Victor von Doom created by Stan "The Man" Lee and Jack "The King" Kirby Maria Hill created by Brian Michael Bendis.  
> ***  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please buy me a coffee (http://ko-fi.com/falconlord) or buy my original fiction on Amazon.
> 
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


	13. The Invasion of San Marco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the small island of San Marco, a cruel right-wing military dictatorship rules with an iron fist, crushing all opposition and enslaving a small but growing mutant population.
> 
> Unfortunately for them, The Brotherhood of Mutants is coming...

**The Invasion of San Marco**

Fog rolled in at the San Gregorio Naval Base, thick as pancake batter. Captain Dennis Nichols, U.S. Marine Corps, stood on the south-eastern pier drinking the bitter tar the Navy liked to pass off as coffee while he watched Navy work crews fix up half a dozen old leaky transports.

 

"What do you suppose a third world country like Wakanda wants with U.S. Navy hardware, Captain?" a portly Marine non-comm asked Nichols from Nichols' left, drinking his own tar and huddled in the same winter uniform Nicholls himself was shivering in.

 

"Couldn't tell you, Chief," Nicholls said, taking a sip of his coffee. Nichols curled his lip in distaste, both at the coffee and the mention of Wakanda. "Ever since those sheep-herders got lucky in that Israel-Palestine mess, they've gotten pretty damn uppity if you ask me. Acting like they own the place, daring to tell the United States what we can and cannot do! You hear, they even told us to leave off the hunt for those Boko Haram assholes! You really think some cut-rate military from some third world country can do better than the fucking United States? We're the goddamn Marine Corps, not these shitheads!"

 

"Oo-rah," the Chief said in agreement. "Don't worry about it, Captain," he added, taking another sip of his coffee. "Soon enough, all those assholes will remember you can't live on this planet with our help. Israel, Palestine, Wakanda... they'll come running back to us, demanding our protection. Hell, Wakanda's even buying our ships. It's cause they know we're better, Captain. Better than anyone else out there."

 

"It's that goddamn bitch Hillary Clinton's fault," Nichols muttered over his coffee. "If we had elected a real man, like Trump, these other shithole countries wouldn't dare walk all over us like this. Goddamnit, Latveria's trying to claim credit for ending ISIS! Fuck, that fuck Doom probably started ISIS in the first place! And he wanted us to fight against the resistance in Kaznia's civil war. Fucking prick, he just wants to look out for his liberal elitist friends, doesn't give a shit about the little guy."

 

"Well remember Captain, Donald Trump was secretly a Russian spy," the Chief said, glancing at his captain. Nicholls glanced back, grinned at his chief, and the two shared a short barking laugh.

 

"Fake news, Chief," Nichols said, turning back to watch the Navy crews. It was 21:00 already, and they needed to get these ships up and loaded before morning.

 

"Very fake, sir," the Chief agreed, following his captain's gaze. The troop transport at the far end of the dock moved.

 

"Hey!" The Chief shouted. "What are you assholes doing?"

 

"It's not us!" the lead crewman said. "The ships started moving all on their damned own!"

 

Nichols and the Chief exchanged startled glances. The Chief reached over to the radio on his left breast to call for help, but was met with a grating squeak as the radio sparked and popped.

 

"Goddamnit, what the hell is going on?" The Chief said, patting at his winter jacket to put out the sparks from the destroyed radio.

 

"I don't know," Nicholls said, dropping his coffee and drawing his gun. More ships followed the first one off the pier while sailors and technicians jumped off the ships into the water. _Fucking sailors_ , he thought. _They should stay aboard and fight whoever's stealing our ships!_ Not that Nicholls' ran forward to confront his invisible enemy; instead he crouched behind a set of boxes near the landward end of the pier, pistol drawn.

 

"Where are you?" he whispered, scanning the pier in front of him.

 

"Why, my dear Captain, I am right here," a cultured voice with just a hint of an accent said from behind Nicholls. Nicholls whipped around to see a strange figure _hovering_ there before him. It looked like a man, maybe two inches over six foot. But it _hovered_ , so it couldn’t be a man. It wore a red bodysuit with purple trunks, boots, gloves and cape; and a purple-lined red helmet with two little horns on the front. Blue-grey eyes peered out from behind the mask's t-shaped visor.

 

Nichols reacted in the only way the Marine Corps had trained him to do: he raised his pistol and opened fire. The bullet deflected off the creature and into the Chief, killing him instantly. The creature raised its hand and summoned Nicholl's pistol to him. With a contemptuous gesture, the creature threw the pistol off to the side.

 

"You Americans and your guns," the creature said in that same cultured, accented voice. "Is shooting your response to everything? Look at what you've done; you've killed your friend."

 

"It's okay, I never liked him anyway," Nichols said, raising his arms in surrender and lowering himself down to the cold hard cement of the pier. Warm liquid ran down his leg, and not from the coffee. "Just, please don't hurt me, okay? Please! I'll do anything!"

 

"Don't worry, Captain," the creature said, a note of contempt creeping into its cultured tones. "I have no intention of hurting anyone today. Indeed, I always had a certain respect for the United States military. Although," the creature added as it floated away, "it clearly has fallen from its glory days, wouldn't you agree?"

 

Nichols could only nod in agreement as the strangely clad monster floated away. The dockhands who had jumped ship clambered onto the docks, their faces distorted with rage and injured pride. They grabbed the nearest weapons: knives, chains, lengths of lead pipe and charged. It didn't matter. The monster gestured and the dockhand's weapons flew toward it. This did not stop the dock workers; they kept charging. The monster was forced backwards then up as it dodged the longshoremen's furious assault.

 

"It's an alien," Nichols whimpered. "It's an alien, like that 'Superman' freak out in Metropolis. That's it, that's gotta be it." Nichols thought about warning the dockhands that they fought an invincible monster, but decided against it. Nichols' didn't want to leave his hiding space for some uppity longshoremen and it wasn't going to do any good, anyway. They were fighting an _alien,_ and it would kill them all. That's all there was to it.

 

The longshoremen disagreed. They surrounded the alien, having now grabbed a length of rope and passed it around to form a barrier. The alien backed away from one side of the circle only to find itself blocked by more dockhands. Trapped like a corralled bull, the alien rose up above the dockhands and gestured towards one of the shipping containers. It rose up to meet the alien who gestured again and slammed the container down, trapping the dock workers. Some, seeing the container floating above them, rolled away. Others crowded in further, to make sure they weren't caught by the sides of the falling container.

 

Those who had escaped the alien's trap rallied once more and went after the alien, but by then it was too late. The alien rose up again and ripped the ships from the moorings, floating away with them as the dock alarms sounded.

 

Nichols stayed huddled in his hiding place, working out how he would spin this for his superiors. They would look for someone to blame, and Nichols was adamant it wouldn't be him.

 

* * *

 

The bullets coming at Jean Grey and her friends were made of rubber. "Non-lethal," their proponents called them.

 

The black eye forming underneath Jean Grey's cowl from when she wasn't fast enough with her telekinetic shield and let one of those rubber bullets slip through made it clear that "non-lethal" didn't mean "non-painful." In front of her outstretched arms, a pink dome stood between her, the rest of the X-Men, and the training dummies shooting the rubber bullets. Every time a bullet impacted against the dome, pain shot directly into Jean's brain. Sweat poured down the redhead's face and her arms shook with the effort to keep the dome in place.

 

Behind her, dressed in the blue and yellow bodysuit that was the X-Men's uniform, Scott Summers a.k.a Cyclops, tended to Bobby Drake, also known as Iceman. Bobby was another victim of Jean's failure to get her shield up fast enough; the rubber bullets had slammed into his face knocking him down to the ground and taking the sixteen-year-old boy out of the fight.

 

"I'm fine, Scott," Bobby said, through a mouthful of blood. Jean desperately wanted to turn around to check on her young friend, but she didn't dare turn her attention away from the telekinetic barrier. _If I do, we're all gonna end up like Bobby_ , she thought. _I hope Scott comes up with a plan soon! I don't know how much more of this I can take!_

"Yeah, you are," Scott agreed, standing away from the teenager. "Angel? Beast? What's your status?"

 

"No good, Cyclops," Warren said from somewhere above Jean's head. "I've got the altitude, but they're keeping me back with all that gunfire. I can't get close enough, unless you want me to do a kamikaze run."

 

"Don't you dare!" Jean tried to shout. It came out more as more of a whisper.

 

"Alas, I am in a similar position, oh temerarious doyen," Beast called out from Jean's right. "I am afraid that I am trapped not ten metres from our assailants by their voluminous gunfire. It is time, I should think, that we attempt a different solution."

 

"No arguments here," Scott agreed. "Okay Jean. When I give the command, drop the shield and get down on the ground. Got that?"

 

"Got it," Jean nodded, her knees buckling.

 

"On the count of three," Scott said, coming up beside Jean. He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, causing the shield to buckle and warp from the sudden contact. Scott jerked his hand away. Jean tried to tell him that it was okay, that his touch was comforting, but the words wouldn't come out.

 

"One," Scott croaked.

 

"Two," he said, his voice a little firmer.

 

"Three!" he shouted. Jean dropped the shield and fell to the ground as soon as she heard the first syllable. As she fell, she saw a bright red haze fill the room...

 

Somewhere, someone threw a switch and the lights in the Danger Room came on. Jean tried to pick herself up from the gym floor, but her knees buckled and she fell down again. Someone grabbed her before she could hit the floor and supported her as she struggled to get back on her feet. It was Scott; Jean sagged in to him, exhausted and hurt. Tears ran down her face.

 

"That could have gone better," Warren Worthington III said as he came in for a landing, his white feathery wings flaring to slow him down. He must have been as tired as Jean felt, for he stumbled as he landed. Warren, like Scott, was dressed in a yellow tabard with shorts over a blue bodysuit. Yellow gloves and boots covered his hands and feet. There were some differences in their costumes though. The back of Warren's uniform had two slits for his wings, while Scott's blue cowl was outfitted with a ruby quartz visor to contain his powerful optic blasts. The same optic blasts that Scott had used just moments before to end the fight.

 

"Let's see you do better," Scott snapped.

 

"Wouldn't be hard," Warren fired back.

 

"You think you can lead this team, Warren?" Scott demanded, shifting his weight, so he was no longer supporting Jean, who almost fell before she could readjust.

 

"Hell yeah!" Warren said, balling his hands into fists.

 

"Guys, this really isn't the time," Jean croaked, clutching hard on to Scott. She stumbled again, almost pulling Scott down with her. Scott readjusted in time so they didn't both fall.

 

"I'm sorry, Jean," Scott said. "Come on, let's get you someplace where you can sit down."

 

"I'm sorry, too," Warren said, moving to the side opposite Scott. "Come on, let me help you," he added as he put his arm around Jean and hoisted her up. Scott was about to say something, but a warning glance from Jean shut him up.

 

"It's not me you two have to apologize to," Jean croaked as the two boys moved her to one of the benches lining the eastern wall of the Danger Room. "But thank you," she added as the boys set her down. Behind them came Professor Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy and Bobby Drake.

 

"As much as it pains to criticize a student in public, I cannot deny that was a poor performance, Scott," Professor Xavier said as he wheeled his wheelchair up to the bench. The professor had opted to dress like a gym coach today; he wore a loose-fitting grey hoodie, darker grey sweat pants and a Yankees ball cap. The casual get-up was a sharp contrast with his thin, arching eyebrows, narrow pointed ears, sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. The professor studied his favourite student and adopted son with his intense brown eyes. Scott, for his part, stared at a point on the wall to the left of Jean's head. The field leader of the X-Men sighed and said:

 

"I know, sir. We'll do better next time, I promise."

 

"Yeah," Bobby Drake said, staunching the flow of blood from his nose with a pack of ice generated from his hand. Bobby was the youngest of the X-Men at sixteen, and the smallest of the three boys at 5'8. Which meant he still towered over Jean by a good four inches. Unlike the other four X-Men, Bobby's uniform consisted only of a pair of blue trunks. In a fight, this was because Bobby could turn himself into a walking, talking snowman. Outside of a fight, however, it showed off his chiseled abs and thick thighs. Jean grinned to herself remembering the other day when it was _Bobby_ who got all the attention at the swimming pool and left both Scott and Warren in the dust. "Next time, I'll make sure to keep my mouth shut when the fight's about to start. Sorry, Scott."

 

"It's not your fault, Bobby," Jean said as she pulled her own cowl of her face. The fabric scratched at the bruise under her eye, causing Jean to flinch in pain. Both Scott and Warren rushed to help her, but Jean waved them off. She was a big girl and could handle a little pain.

 

She hoped.

 

"It's not your fault," Jean repeated. "Scott and I got distracted, too."

 

"Maybe," Bobby said, his tone and expression sceptical. "But if I hadn't been clowning around, you wouldn't have gotten that shiner," he added, pointing at Jean's growing black eye. Jean shook her head, whipping her bright red hair all over the place.

 

"The fair damsel has a point, Robert," Hank McCoy said from Bobby's left. Hank wasn't the tallest X-Man at 5'11, but he was the largest by far at over four hundred pounds. The seventeen-year-old mutant was by no means fat; most of that weight was muscle, evenly distributed between his massive arms, gigantic legs and thick midsection. A heavy-set, square jaw and large canines that filled his mouth give him a fearsome, brutish appearance that hid Hank's sterling intellect well. Like Jean, his X-Men uniform was little customized, though his boots were designed to accommodate his hand-like feet.  "We all got distracted and failed to take proper heed of our surroundings. What's more, we need the practice at getting ambushed. Few, if any, of our conflicts will be announced by a bell."

 

"Yeah, I guess," Bobby said, pulling the ice away from nose. The wound had stopped bleeding so much, and the better healing of mutants would reduce the damage to a bruise in a matter of days. Still, Bobby got hurt and Jean winced in sympathy for her friend.

 

"Maybe if we had a better leader, we wouldn't have been distracted so easily," Warren said. Scott whirled around and started to say something, but Jean put her hand on his arm to forestall any angry outbursts.

 

"Scott," she said. "It's not worth it. He's just upset and tired, like you. Let it go. And Warren, apologize to Scott. You're not helping anybody by attacking Scott."

 

"Sorry, Jean," Scott said, hanging his head and giving it a shake. "And, sorry Warren. I shouldn't blow my top at you so easily."

 

"It's all right," Warren said, pulling off his cowl to reveal a round cherubic face with blue eyes and blond hair. "I shouldn't have snapped at you either, Scott. Sorry."

 

"Thank you, Jean," Professor Xavier said, reversing his wheelchair. "I expect an analysis from all of you as to what went wrong here today. But after you've showered and rested, of course. The rest of the day is yours, otherwise."

 

As the professor wheeled off, Jean stretched her arms up and asked: "Um, Scott? Warren? Could you guys help me to the showers? I'm a little sore."

 

The two boys reacted so fast they almost banged their heads together to help her up.

 

* * *

 

 

After stepping out of the shower, Jean decided she wanted to take in a sauna and let the heat ease the pain of her bruises. So she wrapped a fluffy white towel around her body and walked over to the locker room, which contained her swimsuit. In her left hand she held her uniform, crumpled up into a ball.

 

_It's a good thing the mansion has an automated laundry service,_ Jean thought. _I can just dump these sweaty, bloody clothes down the laundry chute and not have to worry about them!_ As Jean walked east out of the showers and to the sauna, she spied Hank, Bobby and Warren all walking back north, out of the gymnasium. Scott wasn't with them.

 

_He's probably still in the showers,_ Jean thought. She stopped and stood in the middle of the hallway, water dripping from her red hair as a naughty little thought occurred to her.

 

_Bad Jean, bad!_ She thought, but the idea wouldn't let go of her mind. Scott Summers was in the shower. Naked. And the other boys were leaving, so it wasn't like she would be caught...

 

Hesitantly, but with greater conviction with every step, Jean made her way to the boy's showers. She pushed the heavy blue wooden door out of the way with her telekinesis and snuck into the showers.

 

The boy's showers were identical to the girl's, Jean saw with some disappointment. It was a bare cavern, lined with hooks for your clothes on the right-hand wall and shower heads on the left. And, like the girl's showers, it smelled of mildew.

 

At the far end of the showers stood the object of Jean's desire. Scott Summers stood underneath a rushing torrent of warm water, soaping up his toned eighteen-year-old body. Scott was the tallest of the X-Men at 6'3 and was perfectly proportioned in Jean's eyes. Short brown hair framed his sharp cheekbones and lantern jaw, giving Scott a masculine edge that both Bobby and Warren lacked.

 

Jean giggled softly as she watched Scott rub the soap into his abs. Nothing about Scott was out of line; his body was a perfect rectangle all straight lines and sharp right angles. Alas her giggling must have been a little too loud for Scott perked his head up, searching in her direction. His eyes were still closed, giving Jean an opportunity to slip out before Scott found his visor and opened his eyes.

 

Which she did. Jean slipped out of the boy's showers and made her way to the lockers by the sauna where her swimsuit was stored. Jean reached her locker, spun open the lock and pulled out her suit.

 

She then walked into the girls sauna and dropped her towel to the floor to put on her suit. On the back of the sauna door was a mirror and Jean took a minute to give herself a once over, in case there were any injuries that needed to be taken care of before she turned the sauna on.

 

Other than the bruise around her eye, which had finally stopped spreading and only hurt if she touched it, she looked pretty good, Jean decided. Her long red hair was dark now with water from the shower instead of sweat from fighting. Bright green eyes peered back at her. A light dusting of freckles covered her face and raced down to the top of her breasts. Jean wasn't the bustiest girl in the world; at 34B she was average for an active American woman of five feet, four inches. Like Scott, Jean was rectangular in build, more lines and angles than 'feminine' curves.

 

_At least I don't have his jawline_ Jean thought with a giggle. _Man, I must be tired if I think that's funny_. Jean ran her hands over her body, feeling down to her tight bum and toned legs to insure there were no injuries down there and then slipped on her swimsuit. It was a boring blue one-piece, nothing like the ultra-daring bikinis Jean had seen the other day at the public swimming pool, but it suited Jean just fine.

 

Jean walked into the sauna and set the timer for fifteen minutes to make sure she didn't overheat and sat down on the bench, images of a naked Scott dancing through her head.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Erik Lehnsherr stood in the bridge of his newly acquired transport, guiding the flotilla he stole from the American Navy towards the small island nation of San Marco with his magnetic powers. To his right and slightly behind stood Pietro Maximoff, tapping his foot like a rabbit on speed.

 

"Patience Quicksilver," Erik said smirking. His son was a good man, loyal and honest and brave. Pietro's eagerness to get the war started made Erik proud. "We are nearly in range."

 

"Patience isn't one of my virtues," Pietro answered. "Especially not when I've been stuck in this stinking ship with the likes of Toad and Mastermind."

 

Erik sighed, but did not turn to look at his son. It was imperative that he kept his attention on the task at hand; the South Atlantic may not be as treacherous as the North, but that didn't change the fact manipulating fifteen ships through magnetic power alone was a difficult task. Besides, he and Pietro had this argument more than once.

 

"We need their skills for this invasion," Erik gently reminded his son. "Mastermind's, in particular. Unless you think we can beat the San Marcons with empty ships and idle threats?"

 

"I know, I know!" Pietro said. "Mastermind will use his illusion powers to make it look like an army, while Toad, Blob, Wanda and I provide the muscle until we can link up with the local resistance and form a real army. I get all that. It's just... they way they treat Wanda, like she's a sack of meat or a prize to be won. It's creepy as all hell, Dad."

 

Erik slowly nodded in agreement. He, too, had seen the way Toad and Mastermind treated his only daughter, and would have liked to throw them overboard for their disrespect. But, until or unless Charles came around to his way of thinking, Erik needed both wretched creatures. He was spared articulating this again to Pietro by the squawking of the ship's radio.

 

"This is Felix Harbour Control to unidentified warships," the voice buzzed from the radio in accented English. "You are trespassing in our territorial waters. I say again, you are trespassing in Santo Marco territorial waters. Please identify. I say again, please identify. Over."

 

"Go, get the others," Erik said to Pietro, jerking his head to the aft of the ship. Pietro took off with a blast of wind, blowing Erik's cape over his head and rattling the windows. Erik paused for a second to adjust his costume, then flicked on the radio.

 

"Felix Harbour Control, this is First Fleet of the Navy of the Brotherhood of Mutants," he said with all the gravitas and dignity he could manage. "We are aware of your crimes against mutantkind and have come to put an end to your tyranny. Warn your masters! Magneto, the Master of Magnetism has come to enact his vengeance upon them!"

 

"Roger First Fleet, Brotherhood of Mutants," the Felix Harbour Radio Control Operator radioed back. "The Santo Marco government acknowledges your intentions as hostile. If you do not turn back before you enter the range of our coastal guns, we will be forced to fire. Acknowledge, over."

 

_What a polite chap_ , Erik thought, a wry grin on his face. "Roger, Felix Harbour Control," he said into the radio, making slight adjustments with his fingers to nudge the transports into closer formation as they sailed towards the island nation. "But denied. Soon you will rue the day you ever try to oppress mutants!" After a second or two, Erik added: "Out," to acknowledge the radio operator. Then he switched the radio off.

 

A gust of wind told him Pietro was back. Erik risked a glance over his shoulder. Behind him and to the left stood the Brotherhood of Mutants. Pietro, lean and lanky with his father's platinum blond hair, wore a green bodysuit with silver lightning bolt splashed across his chest. His twin sister, Wanda, who looked so much like her mother with her auburn hair and heart-shaped face, wore a red one-piece swimsuit over a darker red gauzy bodysuit with shoulder-length red gloves, short red boots and a red cape. On her head she wore a strange square mask with openings for both her face and hair.

 

Behind the twins, only two inchers shorter than Pietro at five-ten but lankier still, stood Jason Wyngarde known as Mastermind. Jason wore a dirty brown duster over a worn suit. Greying hair framed a triangular face, his beady eyes glaring out in resentment at a world he deemed unappreciative of his talents. Jason was a loathsome individual; a mutant whose power was the ability to project illusions into another person's mind, a power he used to amuse himself in sorts of disgusting ways before Erik found him and forced him into his service.

 

Beside Mastermind stood another loathsome creature, the unfortunate Mortimer Toynbee. With his heavy face, bulging eyes, grey-green mucus covered skin and short squat body, the mutant known as Toad had much better cause to resent the world than most. This didn't make his slimy sycophantic nature any easier to bear, however. Nor his fashion sense; Toad was decked out in a hideous orange bodysuit with a large green neck frill, gloves and boots. Erik wondered who taught the man how to dress; it couldn't have been his parents.

 

Last but not least, the former circus performer known as The Blob loomed in hatchway. Frederick Dukes' mutant power was nigh-invulnerability... by way of impervious blubber. His fat could stop anything short of an armour-piercing artillery shell, and Erik wasn't sure that'd be enough to injure the other man. Dukes' mutation did not render him an attractive man; he was five hundred and sixteen pounds and looked it, with his rolls of fat only barely contained by his wrestling singlet. Deep-set eyes glared out of a heavy, square face while Dukes chewed on an unlit cigar.

 

_Where did I find such miserable creatures?_ Erik wondered. _And where did Erik find such photogenic white teenagers? Hmm. Maybe my acceptance of these miscreants makes me more liberal than Charles?_ Amused by the thought, Erik outlined his plan to the Brotherhood:

 

"Soon, the San Marcons will open fire on us with their coastal batteries and artillery. They aim to stop the ships and for a time, they will. Quicksilver will race out across the water onto the beach where he will disable the guns."

 

"And get shot at," Pietro said. "Why can't you disable the guns from here? You've got more than enough power."

 

"Silence!" Erik roared. Son or no, he did not have to take that kind of disrespect. Not in front of this collection of malcontents. "The Scarlet Witch and I will stay to guard the ships from enemy fire. Once Quicksilver has cleared the beaches, I will direct the ships onto the landing zone. From there, The Blob, Toad, the Scarlet Witch and Mastermind's army will reinforce Quicksilver. You can project an illusion large enough for the task, yes?" Erik demanded of Jason.

 

Mastermind sniffed. "Easily."

 

"Good," Erik said, hiding his doubts about the other mutant's competence. Wyngarde had ego to spare, but could he back up his words with action? Erik was spared the necessity of dwelling any further on Wyngarde's capabilities by the sound of an exploding shell from the bow of the ship.

 

"It's time!" Erik said, slowing the ships to a halt so he could better protect the ships with his magnetic capabilities. "Quicksilver, go! Witch, with me. The rest of you to your stations! Now, move it!"

 

The invasion of San Marco had begun.

 

* * *

 

 

Pietro raced across the sea, a white plume in his wake as his feet jack-hammered against the water. The air burned around him, a familiar and welcoming cocoon of friction. Pietro lived for speed; lived for the way he bent and broke the laws of physics as reached Mach 1, 2, 3, 4. So far as Pietro knew, only the guys in goofy long johns from Metropolis and Central City came even close to his speed; everybody else was trapped in the mindboggling stupidity of slowness, unable to think or even act for themselves.

 

Ahead, on the beach, Pietro saw the goose-stepping soldiers of the San Marcan government race down the beach to set up a machine gun position. Pietro grinned; those killers would never get the chance to wield their arms. As he'd raced across the ocean, Pietro kept his speed under three-hundred and fifty kilometres per hour; now he cranked it up to over twelve-hundred kilometres per hour, a sonic boom exploding out from behind him.

 

A sonic boom the San Marcan soldiers never heard, for Pietro easily outraced it. Once he was in range of the soldiers, Pietro just _stopped_ , letting the wind and heat from his speed slam into the troops. The resulting pressure wave hit the troops with all the force of a hand-grenade, injuring most... and killing the rest.

 

"I do love beating up fascies," Pietro said, standing with his arms folded and looking around with a smug expression on his face. A smug expression that didn't change at all when another group of soldiers that Pietro hadn't noticed took aim and fired at the speedster. The first few bullets hit Pietro... and did nothing more than knock him back a little. The rest didn't even touch him as Pietro dodged out of the way. Several, in fact, hit soldiers west of Pietro, setting up another machine gun emplacement. Pietro turned and laughed at the soldier's crestfallen faces.

 

"I've got super-speed, geniuses," he sneered. "Did you really think _bullets_ would hurt me?" The soldiers looked at each other and threw down their weapons in surrender.

 

"What do you know, smart fascies," Pietro said. "See something new every day."

 

"Quicksilver!" Magneto barked over the communicator. "Quit playing around and get back to work! You have a job to do!"

 

"Fine," Pietro sighed, and raced off across the beach. In his wake were left the tortured remnants of military materiel and dead and dying soldiers. Pietro stopped for a second to review his work, then raced upwards to the city to deal with the coastal defences.

 

As Pietro raced across the south-eastern quarter of San Marco, clearing out old Swedish and Soviet gun emplacements, Pietro heard the sound of a child crying. Pietro honed in on the sound, searching the city. Finally he found her, a three-eyed mutant girl dressed in rags standing over the lifeless bodies of two older San Marcons.

 

Pietro slowed down, careful to regulate his speed so the girl wouldn't get hit by the whiplash. Then he said:

 

"Hey, little girl," he said, kneeling down and stretching his arm out towards her. The girl twitched and said:

 

"Tu sei Americano. Tu sei Americano!"

 

Pietro kept his hand out and resisted the urge to curse. He'd never bothered to learn much Italian, despite being one of the official languages of his home nation of Trasnia and having an Italian first name. He only hoped he could reach the girl with his limited command of the language.

 

"Um, Buon giorno! Io... sono Pietro! Tu... come ti chiami?" Pietro tried out. The language felt awkward, stilted on his tongue. The girl gave him a dirty look.

 

"For a man called Pietro," the girl said, in fluent but accented English, "your Italian is very poor. Do they not teach Americans how to speak? Even us slaves have a better education than that."

 

"It was an elective," Pietro said, shaking with relief. Poor Italian or not, he had broken the ice with the girl. "What's your name, honey?"

 

"I am Bianca," the girl said, shrinking away from him again. Her three eyes looked down to the ground. "Though you can call me whatever you wish, master."

 

"I'm a mutant, like you," Pietro said, struggling to keep calm. Slaves? _Slaves_? _I can't wait to introduce these assholes to dad,_ he thought. _Or even Poppa Chuck. Pacifist that he is, even Charles Xavier would lose his temper over this shit._ "I'm not your master, and you aren't a slave anymore. Do you have a safe place you can hide? The Brotherhood is here to right some wrongs, and I don't want you getting hurt while we clean up the mess."

 

Bianca shook her head. "No, our masters kicked us out this morning. And then soldiers found us and... my parents..." she gestured to the bodies laying face down on the dirt-strewn alleyway and sobbed once more. Pietro walked over to and cradled her in his arms, all the while whispering:

 

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here honey, I'm here."

 

"There they are! It's more of those hellspawn!" Pietro snapped his head up to see four soldiers coming in from the north end of the alley. Before even he could react, the soldiers opened fire. Pietro took the bullets as only a super-speedster could, with minimal damage. Bianca was not so fortunate. The young mutant died in Pietro's arms, screaming in pain as the bullets tore apart her body. Pietro layed her down on the ground beside her parents.

 

"Quicksilver!" Magneto's voice snapped over the com. "What are you doing? We need those artillery emplacements destroyed, now!"

 

"Right on it, Dad," Quicksilver said as the soldiers closed in on him, guns at the ready. Tears streamed down Pietro's face, obscuring his vision. It wasn't enough to save the soldiers; Pietro punched the rightmost soldier at super-speed, liquifying his skull. The second soldier went down to a kick that shattered every bone in the soldier's body. The last two went down to a double clothesline.

 

Pietro left the soldiers where he killed them. It didn't seem right, to leave Bianca with her killers, but Pietro had a job to do. And if he did it right, there would be no more victims like Bianca.

 

Once Pietro cleared the alley, he cut loose. Thunder sounded in his wake as Pietro zig-zagged across the island, destroying the San Marcon's war-fighting capability wherever he went. Black smoke from the destroyed machines poured out over the landscape. On the horizon, no longer impeded by artillery shelling, Magneto's fleet closed in.

 

The invasion of San Marco was over. The war for the tiny island nation had just begun.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, an actual fucking update? Yes sirree bob! This chapter was a pain in the ass and a lot of scenes were half-started and then left on the cutting room floor so to speak.
> 
> It doesn't help that the original invasion of San Marco (Santo Marco in the original comics, which is... not a place name in Latin language I could find) was wildly out of character for the Magneto we all know and love. Of course, that Magneto was invented out of whole cloth by Chris Claremont; the original version back Jack Kirby and Stan Lee was a cut-rate version of Doctor Doom and kind of a Nazi actually. It's interesting to look at the Kirby/Lee version of Magneto and Chris Claremont's version, as they both reflect very different reactions of two different generations of New York Jews to the Holocaust. For Kirby/Lee, Magneto was another Holocaust waiting to happen, a Nazi in a circus costume. For Claremont, Magneto was a radical attempt to stop the Holocaust, the comic book version of 'Never Again.' It is this version of Magneto that we have come to love, hate and fight over, and it is this version of Magneto I had invade San Marco. But there where things I had to change to make it work: no longer was San Marco an innocent nation, but a pariah amongst the international community, an unabashedly right-wing dictatorship bent on suppression and control.
> 
> Speaking of Nazis and right-wing dictatorships, it's Election Day in the United States. An election that takes place after a week of bomb threats and after the mass murder of eleven worshippers at the Tree of Life synagogue. Most of the violence has come from the right, but a series of arson attacks on synagogue's throughout Brooklyn were committed by a former Democratic intern.
> 
> The hatred and vitriol spewed by Donald Trump is, sadly, not antithetical to the American character. But it is antithetical to the character that Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, Chris Claremont, Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster and Bill Finger imbued into comics. The character of looking out for others, of fighting hatred and oppression, of rejecting fear and of building a better world. I believe the phrase is 'tikkun olam', 'repair the world.' And, my dear friends, is precisely what the old masters, the great-grandfathers of our beloved medium, now command you to do.
> 
> Vote! Vote against hatred! Vote against fear! Vote against injustice! Vote for the victims of tyranny and oppression; of racism and antisemitism. Vote for Jack, and Stan, Jerry and Joe and Bill and Chris. Vote, damn you.
> 
> ***  
> The Uncanny X-Men created by Stan “The Man” Lee and Jack “The King” Kirby.  
> ***
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon. Or buy me a coffee (http://ko-fi.com/falconlord)
> 
> Robots and Vampires (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NDLMDT4): Two hundred years in the future, a young cyborg stops the richest boy in town from killing a gynoid. Now he must flee from the only home he’s ever known to Fort City, base of the mysterious Standard Technologies, Inc. Can he trust them?
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Black Coats (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTWMR7W): When there’s a corpse on the street, somebody has to answer for that. When the body in question is the squire of a prominent vampire, the call for blood only gets louder. Follow Joey Bianco and his squire Jen Ryan as they hunt down a killer and try to keep the peace between vampires and humans.
> 
> The Standard Tech Case Files-The Dead and The Damned (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRSBC7I): Tensions between humanity and vampires are heating up. A vampire store has been ransacked. Protestors are being arrested without trial. Can Joey Bianco and Jen Ryan find a peaceful solution? Or will the streets of Fort City run red with blood?


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